


Manor of Convenience

by unwillingadventurer



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1920's, Comedy, Drama, F/F, Farce, Fluff, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Romance, Servants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:34:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 53,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27594188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwillingadventurer/pseuds/unwillingadventurer
Summary: It's 1925 and Toby of Elmwood Manor loves a man named George who loves him back. And although they're married to two wonderful ladies- Meg and Sophia- they still love each other firstly. Toby's cousin Meg is in love with Sophia, and Sophia equally in love with her, and under the manor roof they live the life of two married couples, seemingly the same as everyone else, two husbands and wives- two in love pairs.  How complicated can it be?
Kudos: 1





	1. The Party

**Author's Note:**

> Also on Wattpad.

For many years I was the master of the most beautiful manor. It hadn’t always been mine, there were many who owned it before me, and there would be many after, but whilst it was mine, it was an honour and I was duty-bound to stay there and take care of it, keeping the wish to my late father and brother and be the best man I could be. My name is Toby, short for Tobias, and I wish it were as simple as the shortening of a name to describe my role within that household and the manor which I presided over. For many years upon this Earth I had rarely a day that was straightforward, or a time when everything ran smoothly. In some cases, you could say, mayhem followed me everywhere.

For I, Toby of Elmwood Manor loved a man named George and he most certainly loved me. And although we were married to two wonderful ladies- Meg and Sophia- we still loved each other firstly. My cousin Meg was in love with Sophia, and Sophia equally in love with her, and under our roof we lived the life of two married couples, seemingly the same as everyone else, two husbands and wives- two in love pairs. Except in our case we were in love with the wrong people. Well, to the world we were. In our hearts however we were very much in love with the right people and over the years there was never a doubt in my mind that all the mayhem that ensued, all the caution, all the lies, deception and madness was all worth it; for our lives at Elmwood Manor were the most memorable and wonderful of my existence. 

The spring of 1925 was the season of our weddings. The Great War was a fading memory which could never entirely be forgotten, and our vows, though very much for convenience, were none-the-less still true as I so wished to honour Sophia and take care of her as much as a husband should of a wife. But it was Georgie I made those specific vows to in my mind, thinking of him as I uttered the words in the church whereupon I vowed to be there through richer and poorer, in sickness and in health until death parted us all in the end. 

And so we began our married lives as a falsehood, a pretence to those around us, and by the May of that year we were still newly-weds who had yet to show society what we were made of. We decided it’d be correct to host a party to honour our nuptials and also our living arrangements. Society already thought it strange that Meg and George were to live with Sophia and myself but over the years that followed, it was going to appear stranger and stranger in our attempts to be as ‘normal’ as possible. So, we decided as odd as we were, as alien as we felt- to live our chosen lives as best we could.

…

The day of the party started off as any ordinary day with a scrambled egg breakfast and a leisurely walk in the grounds mid-morning followed by some tedious estate paperwork after a small luncheon had been consumed. As the afternoon drew to a close, I sensed the atmosphere in the manor change as the servants scurried about to-and-fro, decorating the hall and the dining room as the four of us sat upstairs, attempting to dress for the occasion but not quite managing to be ready on time. It was only half and hour before we were due to have guests that we were all still dreadfully unready and dreadfully anxious. It was dreadful all round.

I hurried into the girls’ bedroom without thinking, flinging open the door to find my cousin Meg about to undress from her tatty day clothes. She still had a smear of mud on her cheek from where she’d been planting flowers to help our gardener Duckett. 

“Out!” she yelled in her usual booming voice as I covered my eyes, trying not to see her as she slipped out of her clothes and was left, I supposed, standing in her undergarments. Meg was never one for being shy but even she had her limits.

“I’m dreadfully sorry, Meg,” I said from behind my hand and trying to find the door handle without looking. “I forget which room I’m in these days.”

As I turned to the door, or where I thought it was, my wife Sophia rushed past me and laughed. “What are you doing here, Toby dear?”

“I have no idea. Trying to find Georgie.”

“He’s in his own room.” She spun me around into the right direction and I was out of the door finally, standing in the hall. 

I still felt rather disorientated when I entered the next bedroom and found George sitting on the bed, dressed from the waist-up in his finest dinner suit but in true George fashion having neglected his trousers. A grown man sitting in underwear and socks. It was a sight to behold.

“Georgie, dear, haven’t you forgotten something?” I asked.

He smiled up at me as if he only just realised I was in the room. 

“I’ve forgotten why we’re having this party.”

I approached him and placed my arms around his shoulders, kissing the top of his nose. “We’re having this party to celebrate our marriages.”

“To other people.” George sighed.

I smiled sympathetically. I felt the same. I longed to share my love for George with the world and I knew Meg felt the same for Sophia. It was going to be difficult to ignore all our feelings, shut them away like old love letters in a box and never able to bring them out in front of people for fear of embarrassing them or frightening them away.

“I know, I know. But for tonight can we at least appear to be normal. And normal means wearing trousers.”

“Who’s not wearing trousers?” George asked before finally looking down at his hairy white legs. “Whoops. I knew I shouldn’t have distracted myself by playing with the cat.”

I scooped up George’s little ginger cat into my arms but it hissed. It always hissed! “Come on Bartholomew the Second, time for you to vacate and let your owner change.”

“He’s Bartholomew the Third!”

“Really? What happened to the second?”

“I think you know.” He sneered and then I remembered. How could I have forgotten? It was last summer and it was my new car which had resulted in his new cat. I smiled apologetically and then shoved the newer cat out of the door.

“Oh darling, your trousers, put them on.”

He then got up, hobbling with the pain from his war injury, unable to stand properly, and stood in front of the mirror, still trouser-less and instead staring hopelessly at his reflection as he leaned on my arm for support. “How old I look.”

I placed my arms around his waist and nestled my head under his chin. “You look forever young to me.”

He smiled, still not wearing trousers, still standing with bare legs, socks and suspenders, still the most precious little creature in all of existence. He leaned on my arm as we admired ourselves in the mirror.

“I suppose I shall have to be romantic with Meg for the guests,” he said.

“Of course you will, she’s your wife!”

“She scares me. Don’t get me wrong, your cousin is a peach but I’m not used to having a lady wife.”

“You’ll get used to it. It’s only been a month.”

“You already seem to be the professional. When Meg and I go to kiss, our heads collide and we look at each other as though we were long lost siblings. When you kiss Sophia, you look like you’ve been interested in girls since you were twelve.”

“It’s an act, darling. I’m a better actor than you. Besides aren’t all men a little afraid of their wives?”

“Are they positively afraid of them?”

“Don’t be silly. Meg’s a kitten really, and you know how you love cats. And she’s also so much of a tomboy and we know you love boys, so what’s the problem?”

“That’s another thing, Toby. I saw someone bent over the bushes outside, thought it was you. Got closer and closer for a pinch and found Meg doing the gardening. Really, girls shouldn’t wear trousers like us chaps.”

“You’re not wearing trousers!”

It was at that moment the aforementioned Meg burst through the door, singing, causing George to stagger to the bed and fall upon it. 

“Hello Meg,” he said, trying to get his breath back as like a tortoise he lay on his back, flailing, unable to get back up again.

“Hello George,” she said, not looking at him. “I’m looking for my earrings, think I left them lying around somewhere in here.”

“Oh Meg, you really ought to tidy things away,” I said.

“Well, it’s hard having two bedrooms. I can’t keep track.”

There was a little knock at the door. “Hello, everyone decent?”

“No, but come anyway,” George said.

Sophia entered a second later looking marvellous in an emerald green dress that displayed her fine back and was decorated so she looked like a glorious peacock. She wore a matching peacock feathered headband over her strawberry blonde curls.

“There you three are,” she said, “as usual I’m the only one ready.”

“I’m ready too!” I protested.

She straightened my bowtie. “Alright, now you’re presentable.”

“Oh George, really!” Meg said, tutting at him as she finally looked at her husband. She folded her arms. “Why are you not wearing trousers?”

“Because people keep interru-

“-put them on! I absolutely refuse to enter a room with a man wearing no trousers.”

“Don’t bully him, Meg,” I said, pinching her, “you’re also not ready. Your dress isn’t even done up and your hair is messy.”

“I’m trying to find my earrings.”

“Here they are,” Sophia said, taking them off the dressing table. She grabbed Meg’s hand, sighed and pulled her behind the dressing screen. “Let me adjust you, you beautiful doll.”

I laughed as I saw their heads peeking over the top of the screen and as I glanced quickly, they were a mass of arms. Then I observed that Meg, like I had with George, placed a little kiss on the top of Sophia’s freckled nose. I spun back around to my own love and to no surprise there he was, still trouser-less, causally and slowly reaching for the coat hanger that held his trousers but which for George may as well have held prison overalls.

Finally, he placed them on and the ladies appeared from behind the screen making final adjustments to each other. All four of us stood together in front of the mirror.

“There,” Sophia said, “don’t we all look fine.”

“I suppose so,” Meg replied, shuffling and adjusting her dress under the ribcage and touching her own bosom.

“I don’t feel fine,” George added.

“Talk to me when you’re wearing a corset!” Meg, still fiddling with her dress, snapped back.

“As a matter of fact,” he began in protest but I placed my finger on his lips. That was a story for another time.

“No time for squabbles. The guests will be here soon. Have we forgotten anything? Oh god, what if we’ve forgotten something?” I said.

“Everything is under control, there’s no need to panic. When the road ahead seems perilous, Sophia is here to guide us along to the other side.” 

I always had to laugh whenever Sophia referred to herself in the third person.

I admired us then as we all stood together looking in the mirror. I linked arms with Sophia, and Georgie linked his arm through mine, who also linked his other arm through Meg’s, who then linked her arm with Sophia until we were standing quite unproductively in a circle.

“Well this won’t work, unless we want to greet the guests like a revolving door,” I said.

George grumbled. “I quite like that idea, then we’d only have to do one quarter of the introductions.”

“Nonsense,” Sophia said, the first to break away from the spot we were in, or the circle in our case. “We can do this. We’ve done worse. I mean for goodness sakes, you two were in the trenches, how bad can one dinner party be?”

George and I exchanged glances but left her sentence unanswered. But she was right, she usually was. If the four of us were together I felt we could get through anything.

“Alright then, let’s get this show on the road,” I said.

…

Not before long we stood rather ridiculously in a line by the front door next to our butler who was aghast as to why we were acting so peculiarly. Our butler Fettis had been with us many years and known Meg and I since we were children, and even he hadn’t become accustomed to our eccentricities. I think secretly he found it all rather amusing but to the day he died he never said a word about it.

There was a sudden ring of the doorbell and Sophia jumped forward. “Fettis, get the door, get the door! Please get the door, goodness they’re here!” she said betraying all her earlier comments about guiding us calmly through the evening.

“Very good ma’am,” he said as she stood inches from him, gesturing bizarrely with exotic hand movements which nobody could understand.

Sophia had a whole hand language but refused to explain it to anyone!

“Oh, great it’s someone with a very tall hat,” George observed. The silhouette of something long on someone’s head was all we could make out through the glass panel on the door.

I nudged him. “What have you got against tall hats?”

“Nothing particularly. It just usually means it has a tall person inside it to make me feel inadequate.”

“You’re five-feet-six inches of delight, my love,” I said, whispering the last part as I heard the guests on the steps.

The door was opened and it was as though the entire guest list arrived simultaneously as they all poured into the room, crashing past us like waves passing over rigid, unmoving rocks. We were those rocks, glued to the spot, standing still in case we were knocked down by the force.

The tidal wave of questions and statements began to ring out around us:

‘How are the love birds?’ ‘What a lovely home for lots of children.’ ‘Why do you live together instead of in two different houses?’

It felt around twenty minutes later before I was able to rest from shaking all the gentlemen’s hands and answering the abundance of awkward questions.

“Wells, how fine your house is looking,” Major Gutteridge said loudly to me as if I wasn’t standing right next to him. “And how fine your pretty wife is looking.” He slapped me on the back and to my surprise I laughed like an idiot of the highest degree. 

From the corner of my eye I spied George and Meg rolling their eyes to the heavens.

I took Sophia’s hand. “She is a delight indeed.” 

This was not a lie. Sophia was a wonderful wife. She was as dear to me as Meg was my cousin and George my true love but she was simply not dear to me in the way she was supposed to be.

We made more polite inane conversation before dinner but even Sophia who was the most professional at blending in was beginning to tire of the charade. She slipped her arm through Meg’s and the two disappeared to the kitchen with the pretence of checking on dinner but I knew very well they were slipping off to the pantry for a cuddle. I still hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to Meg about George’s fear of her but that would have to wait.

For now, the rest of the evening awaited us. The tide was coming in and we would soon see if we would drown.

…

Socialising with my peers and keeping up the pretence of being a devoted husband was, as you’ve heard a tough game, but there were always a few ways I knew of to cope with the madness of our double lives.

Number 1. Was drinking a lot. Number 2. Silently screaming to oneself in the lavatory. And number 3. A good old sing song when one starts to feel plastered and has repeated steps 1 and 2.

Meg and I, after a few drinks needed little convincing to join Sophia at the piano to begin step 3. 

Sophia was an accomplished pianist and played exquisitely as she placed her fingers over the keys and produced a familiar piece of up-tempo music. Normally she stuck to these classic standards but since she’d fallen in love with Meg, traditional Sophia had begun to enjoy the not-so-traditional jazz music that Meg had discovered at this time. Of course, jazz was deemed inappropriate for our party, so to cater to our class and their delicate sensibilities, we stuck to the old favourites. 

So, there we stood, cousins, more like siblings, belting out a tune whilst everyone gathered around in good cheer and it helped us for a while. People were happy. No one was mocking us or staring, asking those dinner questions such as ‘Why do you all choose to live together?’ ‘When will you start a family?’ and ‘when did you fall in love?’ but wanting to answer the truth and having to conceal that part of oneself. True, the life of the upper-class Englishman was mostly concealing oneself but this was worse, it was the very essence of who I was that I was supposed to be ashamed of. But was it bad, I didn’t feel ashamed, not even one little bit?

I looked at Georgie, stood leaning against the piano with Bartholomew III in his arms and our eyes caught one another’s. And for the first time that evening he smiled. I knew it was even harder for him, from a man who stayed out of society and normally amused himself in a flat in the city where he chose not to socialise with any of his own class. He’d given that all up for me. He’d married my cousin who he was afraid of, all for me. I adored him. 

I don’t know why I craved this approval from my peers but I did. I wished I could be more like George and not care a morsel but I didn’t know how to survive any other way. This was a jungle; we were the animals and I was going to be the hunter not the hunted. It was the only way to survive and the only way to protect those I loved.

“Bravo!” cried Mrs. Patterson, an elderly captain’s wife as she downed another glass of scotch whiskey. “You play wonderfully, Mrs. Wells. Mr. Wells, you must be so proud of her.”

“Yes,” I said, placing my arm around her shoulder. “She is very talented at everything.”

There I was over-doing it again. Sophia was an ordinary woman with many great qualities but also flaws and I seemed to have placed her on some kind of pedestal in my foolish attempt to appear in love with her. Meg meanwhile, was scowling at me for I knew it was really she who wanted to talk about Sophia’s talents.

“And what about our singing?” Meg asked, “Should Toby and I join the operatic society?”

The room fell deathly silent.

“Only if one wants it to close!” George quipped. 

The room suddenly filled with laughter and had the joke not been at my expense, I might have enjoyed it more. I was, however, proud of George for managing to engage the other guests. He always did have such a wonderfully dry sense of humour.

…

After the jolly old sing-song, Meg suggested we played a game of hide and seek but knowing Meg as I did, it was simply an excuse for her to lock herself away somewhere and wait for nobody to find her. She always knew the best hiding places and I even suspected she’d go as far as to use the secret tunnel that nobody else knew about.

Lord Hendon was chosen as the seeker and we all scurried to find places to conceal ourselves. George and I headed upstairs and flung open the door of the cupboard. It wasn’t the most difficult location to find but honestly, we couldn’t be bothered with the rigmarole. We sat side by side in the dark, not much room to move as all the storage inside squashed us.

“Well this is much better than being down there with all those idiots,” George said.

“Oh, you really must learn to play with others.”

“I only want to play with you.”

I couldn’t see his face but I sensed he was smiling. He was so mischievous when he wanted to be.

“I know some of them can be a little dull but others are really quite charming, George.”

“I suppose that’s your way of telling me I need to be more accommodating?”

“Well you could make a little more effort.”

“You could make a little less.”

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, Toby dear, you are trying so hard to get these people to like you. You were hanging over Peter Bennett’s words so much, you were practically in his lap.”

“I’m a people person. I want them to be my friends.”

“Do you? Or do you not want them to know your secrets?”

“That too.”

“Our secret is not going to come out. We’re not sharing it with the world, Toby. One only wishes we could.”

I grabbed his hand. “I know.”

At that inconvenient moment, light streamed in and I let go of George’s hand and smiled widely. “Lord Hendon you caught us out!”

“Yes. Out you two, time to come out the closet! I might have known you’d be in here together.”

I felt the anxiety surge through me. Why did I think it was a good idea to hide with George? 

“I beg your pardon?” I spluttered.

“Thick as thieves eh? Well game over.” He called to his wife who had emerged on the landing. “Found the hosts, Winifred, dear. Now to find the others.”

Lady Hendon was a petite woman with a permanent smile painted on her face like a chilling clown doll.

“Isn’t this fun?” she cooed. She cast her eye over George and I as we dusted ourselves off. “Oh, it’s you two. I thought maybe you’d be in there with your lady wife, Tobias. But I suppose you two boys are inseparable. Always with your rough-housing- boys will be boys. I say, are the girls together then?”

“Yes,” the Lord answered. “Found the ladies together, huddled in the laundry hamper. They were rather squashed but I think they found it rather amusing when we discovered them wrapped up under clothes and sheets, giggling away like giddy schoolgirls.”

I glanced at George. He was grinning from ear to ear. We knew our wives only too well!

Feeling the awkwardness set in I clapped loudly. “What a delightful game this is!”

As Lord and Lady Hendon resumed their hunt for more hidden guests, George and I headed downstairs to where we spied Meg and Sophia now giggling in the hall with the other few discovered people, though not quite so discovered as we were.

“Hello dear,” I said to my wife as I linked my arm through hers. “Being naughty?” I whispered into her ear.

“Of course not,” she said.

George followed suit and linked his arm through Meg’s. “Hello lovely wife. Enjoy the game?”

Meg laughed in an over-the-top fashion, unwittingly exactly as she had mocked me for earlier that evening.

“Why yes husband of mine, it was quite exciting.”

…

As we said our goodbyes and yet again my hand felt it was going to fall off from the amount of shaking- it was with relief when the four of us collapsed on the settee together with four cups of coffee on the table beside us. The party was finished. We’d survived. The four of us had brought our ship to shore with only a few splashes of water.

Meg sighed loudly. “I’m glad that’s over with. Our first party together but I’m sure there’ll be many more.”

She slipped off her heels and draped her bare feet over Sophia who began to massage her toes. We were all so tired. George and I snuggled next to each other at the other end of the settee, he removing his bowtie and discarding it onto the floor and I checking the door to make sure the servants were not witness to us cuddled up like cats to the ones we were not married to!

“I don’t know why we were so worried,” Sophia said, “I thought it went splendidly. A few hiccups here and there but no one suspected anything amiss. Good work team.”

“I’m not convinced we came off well,” I said.

“Everyone at the party was as nutty as a fruitcake,” Meg said, “why should we have seemed any different?”

“Well, come on, it’s been a long day, time for bed,” Sophia said.

So off to bed we went but as we travelled up the stairs our butler saw us on the landing and with nervous laughter as though he knew all our secrets, I took Sophia’s arm and led her into the bedroom. “Come dear lady wife, time to retire together.”

I wasn’t sure if I saw a raised eyebrow from Fettis or it had been my imagination but I wondered if George’s reluctance to take Meg’s arm was becoming too obvious to the staff though I reasoned that there were many marriages in England in which the couple barely knew one another or perhaps didn’t even like their spouse. At least Meg and George had the advantage of a care for one another that I hoped would only deepen with time, even if George was still scared of her!

Sitting on the bed, I took Sophia’s hand in mine. “Thank you for organising a wonderfully successful evening. You really are better at running this house than Meg when it was just we two after Charlie died.”

Sophia laughed. “Poor Meg, oh I do love her silly ways of doing things.”

I fidgeted and there was silence. “Well, goodnight, my dear.” I kissed her cheek and she smiled lightly. 

I then crossed to the bookcase, pulled on a copy of The Scarlet Letter and a little secret door opened. The only ones who knew of this doorway that led to a crawlspace were the four of us. It had been installed by my father, and Meg and I used it to sneak into each other’s bedrooms as children so we could spook each other with ghostly tales. 

Now many years later, no longer venturing in the dark to see Meg to scare her silly, I crawled through to be with my lover on the other side. I shimmied in the small space until I felt Meg emerge beside me in the other direction.

“Hi cousin, fancy seeing you here,” she said with a chuckle.

“You can’t see me at all, it’s too dark.”

“No, well we’ve done this routine before. Goodnight, Toby.”

“Goodnight, oh wait, before you crawl away, I just wanted to say, please be careful with George tomorrow.”

“What do you mean?”

“He frightens easily and it’s quite alright for a gent to be slightly fearful of his wife, but it’s not normal for him to jump when you so much as come into a room.”

“Oh, so that’s why he keeps doing that! Look, well, I’m sorry Toby but this isn’t easy for me either. It’s hard living with a man who can’t say boo to a goose and it’s also hard that he can’t pretend to worship me the way you idolise Sophia in your platonic romantic sense or whatever.”

I touched her arm. “Georgie needs time to get to know you. He takes ages to really know people. He’s better with cats. It was the trenches that brought us together. Had we met under different circumstances I’m not sure it’d have been the same. But he’s tender and loving, Meg. He’s just not social and outgoing.”

“I understand. Well, I’ll let you go to your tender, loving man and I’ll go to my talented pianist woman and all will be alright in the morning.”

“Goodnight dear Meg.”

“Goodnight dear Toby.”


	2. The Servants Revolt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missing tiara causes chaos in the manor, leading to a clash between servants and employers.

With a glass of whiskey in my hand, sat at my desk in my study, deep in estate work, papers everywhere- I was roused by the sound of commotion coming from outside the door.

“Infernal house!” 

The door flew open and in hobbled a breathless, red-faced and anguished Georgie. He panted heavily as he steadied himself against the chair. His walking stick was no doubt discarded upstairs and despite the fact he very much needed it, George tried to struggle on regardless as though he had no injury at all.

“What on earth’s the matter, my dear?”

I was immediately at his side, holding him upright and rubbing his arm in that tender way that calmed his anxiety.

“The servants are revolting, Toby!”

“I know one or two of them can be a bit…scruffy…but that’s no way to speak of them.”

“No, no, I mean they’re in absolute revolt, refusing to work full stop and very angry. Duckett’s refusing to tend to the garden. Mrs. Warman is refusing to cook. Even that glorious stable master is refusing to…well…do whatever glorious young stable masters do with horses.”

Interrupted by the booming voice of Meg, we exited the room to find her standing on the piano, waving her arms about like a conductor. The servants stood in a huddle, arms folded, faces of thunder, ready for action and discussing amongst themselves with raised voices like an angry mob ready to wield their pitchforks.

“There will be silence!” Meg shouted.

The servants fell silent at her command. I really needed to learn how to be as assertive as my cousin though perhaps without the side dish of aggression.

Sophia, more the type for gentle discussion than a ‘sergeant major’ routine, tapped Duckett on the shoulder. “Now, can we talk about this? Let’s all sit down and have a rational discussion with a nice cup of tea and a slice of battenberg.” A wine glass flew past her head, smashing into the fireplace. She jumped in shock. “Good Lord!”

“How did it all start?” I wailed at Georgie, ducking behind the door as a plant pot flew toward us. “How has it come to this?”

…

For a better idea of how it came to that very chaotic moment by the piano, one better explain exactly how the first seeds were sewn long before the plants grew and grew until eventually they sprouted in all kinds of directions until they had the desire to suffocate every other plant in sight. 

To put into perspective, I would also like to point out that England seemed to like striking at that moment in history. There was always some strike going on somewhere, some union meeting and someone complaining about their lot. No doubt many were entitled to complain about their lot, after all, it’s an English pastime to complain, and if your lot is a lot less than someone else’s lot than I can quite see the logic for arguing one’s lot is too much less than our lot. It was a messy business all ‘round.

The first sign of the rapid growth of hostility between masters and employees came three days earlier. It had been a somewhat ordinary week in the manor but when Sophia’s ‘Edwardian with rose-cut diamonds coming-out’ tiara had disappeared into oblivion, the atmosphere suddenly changed. We searched high and low and eventually suspicion fell upon the household servants. Naturally I didn’t suspect any of my loyal staff, however the tiara was nowhere to be found and I couldn’t rule out that one of them- in a fit of desperate need to improve their lot- might possibly take the opportunity to snatch the aforementioned tiara and sell it in some shabby underworld street for hideously less than its value but enough for them to have a lot more money.

Therefore, with no idea who had taken it, Meg placed it upon herself to question and search the servants one by one and seemed to think she was Sherlock Holmes as she clutched her magnifying glass and notebook as if she had any idea what she was doing in criminal investigation. If I had known Meg was to become carried away with this line of investigation or in her words ‘tough love’- then I’d have stopped her interrogation immediately and questioned them myself in a more congenial manner. Though under my watch I’m sure I’d have been questioning them until doomsday!

“Mrs. Wynter practically accused me of taking the tiara,” our maid Eleanor said as she sobbed into a handkerchief. “When I suggested I had no need for a tiara she came up with the idea I may have had a secret lover who passed it on to a fence. I don’t even know what a fence is except for ones in the garden.”

The servants all stood on one side, the four of us on the other. We were quite outnumbered and quite on display. I beckoned Eleanor to my side where she fell upon my shoulder and wept. I tensed up. I merely wished to speak to her not be her literal shoulder to cry on. I had never seen someone release so much emotion in the work-place before.

“Meg, was that questioning wholly necessary?” I said, tapping Eleanor’s hair with two of my fingers.

“I didn’t mean to upset anyone, I simply wished to get to the root of the problem.”

“And I suppose we’re the roots,” Duckett said, “because forgive me for speaking out of turn but how do we know it wasn’t one of you who stole the tiara?”

“Why would I steal my own ‘exquisite rose-cut diamonds coming out tiara?’” Sophia said.

“One of your lot then. You have parties don’t you, gatherings of your people?”

“Yes, but they all have their own exquisite tiaras with rose-cut diamonds that they could steal.”

Mrs. Warman began to cry too, only managing to say each word very slowly with a deep breath between each sob. “I’ve worked here for nigh on twenty years, Sir. And for your father and brother too when they were masters. Never before have I been so insulted.”

“In fairness to my family name, this isn’t the first time you’ve been searched,” I reminded her, “remember the great ruby necklace revolt of ’21?”

“Yes, but it happens far too often,” Duckett said, “and it’s we workers who are searched and accused like common criminals. I mean you no disrespect, Sir, but it’s high time you respected us.”

I tapped him gently on the shoulder. “We do respect you. I’ve never had any issues with your work. You’re all tremendous at what you do. We’re simply trying to ascertain how the coming out tiara with rose-cut diamonds went missing.”

Uncharacteristically for George, he spoke aloud to the room full of people: “Look here, if whoever did it could kindly step forward and then the innocent others can go about their business and all will be over.”

“But it wasn’t any of us!” the glorious handsome stable-master said.

“I know it wasn’t you,” George said.

“How do you know it wasn’t him but think it was one of the rest of us?” Duckett asked which was a very good question that I myself wished to know the answer to, though I had a strong idea of the reason.

George stammered. “I…well, I’m dreadfully sorry, I don’t really know.”

“This is getting us nowhere,” Sophia said, placing her hands on her hips. “I suggest we leave the matter for now until we’ve had another search.”

…

So, that is exactly what we did but to no avail and for the next two days we pretended the problem didn’t exist. The servants went about their natural duties, though I did detect some slammed doors, harsh putting down of trays, and some furiously cold tea and looks from several of them!

On the third day it was deathly quiet and that scared me most of all. I confided in Meg when I realised the implications of our actions. We had riled the servants and now I was convinced they must have been silently plotting our downfalls.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Toby. I’ve never met anyone so paranoid in my life.”

“They know things about us, delicate things, Meg. They know our routines, our secrets.”

“We don’t know they know about that.”

“But we don’t know that they don’t know and they certainly don’t know that we might know they know. They may gather evidence to take to the authorities. If they think we’ve betrayed them, who’s to say they won’t betray us in return?”

“What kind of evidence?”

“Love letters, sneaking out of bedrooms, illicit kisses on the landing.”

“Only one of those is evidential proof, Toby, unless they’ve been following us around with a camera. And even then, how would they know for certain what’s going on when we’re so careful all the time? My letters are locked up and besides how would one know my letters to Sophia were not really about George? I never sign them.”

“You don’t?”

“You do? Oh Toby, you’re the careful one!”

“Sorry, it seems wrong not to sign a letter personally. Anyway, do you really think a servant can’t decode a letter where you’re describing Sophia and not George? The last time I checked, George doesn’t have curves, a slender waist, and high cheek bones.”

She slapped me on the arm. “Have you been reading my letters again? Maybe the servants were right, maybe it’s one of us- maybe it’s you! You stole the rose-cut diamond tiara. You wanted to dress up all pretty and now you’ve regretted it. It’s probably in George’s jewellery box.”

“George has a jewellery box?”

“Yes.”

I didn’t know why that surprised me. “Alright but George wouldn’t hide it. He’d tell us all in insufferably long detail about how the exquisite rose-cut diamond tiara suited him more than Sophia.”

Meg folded her arms. “You’re right. So as horrible as it is, dear trusting Toby, it has to be one of the servants. Who was the last one in?”

I thought for a moment. “Not lovely little Eleanor?”

“She has shifty eyes!”

“She does not!”

We argued like that for several minutes, each accusation becoming more ludicrous than the one before and I was getting flashbacks of father telling us off for fighting over who scored the point in a tennis match.

“Next you’ll be telling me Fettis took it for his weekend act in Soho!” I shouted.

It was of course at that precise moment that Fettis himself walked past me and harshly placed down the tray. This was exactly what I was afraid of. They were always there. They knew everything!

“Oh Fettis,” I stammered, “I didn’t mean…”

“Really, Sir, what did you mean?”

“That you didn’t go out on weekends wearing tiaras in Soho!”

“I didn’t realise I was a subject for gossip and derision, Sir, having worked here for nigh on thirty-five years. That’s it!”

Meg and I exchanged glances. “What’s it?” we said together.

Without warning, as though the world was ending, he lifted up his tailed jacket and sat upon the drawing room armchair. I had never seen such a sight. I had never seen Fettis sit down in the house in all the years I had known him. It was an event solely from a science-fiction novel.

“Until I’m respected, I’m no longer able to fulfil my duties.” 

And with that the rest of the day followed in that manner. Fettis conspired with his band of fellow servants and suddenly we were left with a household of unwilling workers. Some continued to work under sufferance and most angrily, whilst other like Fettis took to sitting on random pieces of furniture or stopping mid-way through a task. Some even refused to work at all and stood in various locations, just doing absolutely nothing! The household was in complete disarray and we were all starting to suffer under the strain.

“Bartholomew hasn’t been fed!” George moaned as he came into the drawing room. 

“Never mind your cat, we haven’t got any dinner!” I replied.

“No dinner? How will we eat?”

“Oh, for goodness sakes George, we won’t,” Meg said. “We haven’t got any servants willing to do it in case you’d forgotten. We’ll have to eat out tonight.” 

“You mean with other people?” George shuddered. “Can’t you pay these servants more money, Toby? I would for an easy life but then I’m not master or mistress of this place so I have no say in anything.”

“Of course you have a say,” Sophia said.

“Then why isn’t my cat being fed?!”

“Oh, will you shut up about your blasted cat!” Meg shouted.

I placed my arms around Meg and George. “Quiet, all of you. We are all equal in this house and we are not meant to turn on one another. Remember why we did this, remember why we all agreed to get married? We wanted to be with each other and we wanted to make this house our home- the four of us together. We said that as a unit we could achieve anything and I still believe we can. We may not be conventional but we’re not stupid. I won’t allow this to come between us.”

Sophia kissed me quickly on the lips. “Thank you, Toby dear, you’re right of course. Let’s go for dinner and have a good time.”  
…

Dinner at a restaurant made a nice change and I would have enjoyed it even more had it not been for the reason we were there in the first place, hiding from our own servants who hated us. I couldn’t seem to put it to the back of my mind and whilst George tucked into his meal quite easily, I played with my food for quite some time.

“Eat up, Toby, your meal will go cold,” Sophia said. 

“I’m sorry dear, it’s all this on my mind, not good for the digestion.”

“I know what will cheer you up,” George said, to which I felt his foot rub against my leg. I dropped my fork with a clatter onto the table and then bashed my knee. 

Everyone looked in our direction to which we all greeted the other diners with the exact same expression- a big dopey grin. I wondered if the community were becoming used to our eccentric ways.

“I think there’s only one thing to do,” Meg said, holding up her glass. “Get absolutely blotto. When steps one and two fail, always remember step three.” 

Sophia placed her arm around my shoulder. “You mustn’t let it worry you. You’ve never let anything get the better of you before, why should now be different?”

“Because there’s so much at stake,” I answered. 

…

By the time our household situation reached the crescendo of Meg atop the piano, Sophia trying to mediate and George ducking behind the door, I couldn’t believe our beautiful harmonious garden had grown so wild. The servants had only become more agitated with our inability to apologise and they were not backing down. The obedient and kind servants who once were beautiful flowers were now tangled weeds unwilling to stop their vengeful growth.

George shut the door to the study as though we were barricading ourselves in. 

“Georgie, what if they become violent, we’ve left the ladies out there with them?”

“Every man or woman for themselves.”

“Exactly the kind of talk that sounds admirable coming from you Captain Wynter.”

“Meg can hold her own, Toby, and I don’t go by Captain anymore.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Oh god it’ll be as drawn out as the Peasants Revolt of 1381, or worse, the Hundred Years War.”

“I’m not sure referring to our servants as peasants helps the cause. They may prefer working-class.”

“There’s no class at all in throwing things at your employers.”

“They’re angry, Georgie. Wouldn’t you be if someone stained your character? What about the time you were accused of cheating at your school? You said you were slandered in the worst way. Didn’t that make you want to throw things?”

“Not really.”

“Why not?”

“Because I did cheat.”

“Well then, all that proves is that people of all classes can be guilty of unspeakable acts. Just like people of all classes can have unstained characters.”

George sighed. “Of course, you’re right. In the war many of the working-class men under me were admirable fellows. I must concede that your servants are a rather spirited bunch. I’m starting to doubt my initial theories. Perhaps it really was someone who came to the house.”

“The four of us need to discuss it once we get the ladies out of the danger-zone. Any ideas, Captain?”

Though he denied it, I think George rather liked being referred to as Captain again, especially by me. “At ease, Sergeant, I have a plan.”

Having to restrain myself from my sudden attraction to the image of George in his glory days of army captain, I listened to his plan whilst trying not to imagine our first encounter back in 1917. That was a story for another time!

With army-style tactics, military hand gestures, and a bucket load of courage, George and I made our way into the room which held our lady’s prisoner, and we managed to lead them to safety. I had no idea where to hide so we raced upstairs to Sophia and Meg’s bedroom and threw ourselves inside, slamming the door behind us, blocking out the raised voices from the servants downstairs. They may have been furious, they may have thrown things and refused to work, or even quit, but I knew them well enough to know they’d never enter a lady’s bedroom without permission.

“What a disaster!” Sophia said, falling onto the bed. “My attempts at diplomacy fell quite flat.”

“That’s because we should’ve tried diplomacy before Meg’s ‘Scotland Yard’ routine,” I said.

Meg slipped on the bed beside her lover. “I didn’t mean for it to come to this. I enjoyed playing detective, that’s all.”

Sophia rubbed her shoulders. “It’s not your fault.”

“It kind of is,” muttered George.

Meg scowled at him. “Oh, and you were so lovely to the servants! If they don’t look like young Billy you think they’re all guilty.”

“I deny that!” George frowned. “Who’s Billy?”

“The stable master,” Meg replied. “It’s best to know the names of the ones you ogle.”

“I do not ogle! That is a deplorable word. I merely appreciate.”

Meg sighed. “I’m simply saying that the blame can be shared around. I mean the ‘coming out’ tiara with diamonds could be anywhere. Perhaps it fell down a drain.”

Sophia laughed. “And how would that happen?”

“It’s unlikely I agree but what else?”

“Perhaps George had something. You said earlier that perhaps we were short-sighted. Suppose it was a recent guest. When was the last time you saw the tiara with rose-cut diamonds, Sophia?” I asked.

“Oh, I suppose it was the last time Meg and I were fooling about dressing up, about a fortnight ago.”

“And you put it back?”

“Yes, I think so, I remember saying to Meg that it needed to be put back securely as my mother would have a fit If it were damaged.”

“And why did you notice it was missing?”

“Meg got that new camera. She was hoping for a photograph with me wearing it.”

“So, who came to the house between that first occasion and the second one?” I asked.

“And who also knew about the tiara and its location?” Meg said.

Sophia began to pace around the room. “And the trunk wasn’t broken into, oh it makes no sense. Are you sure you didn’t take it for a game, George?”

“Are you seriously blaming me, Sophia?”

“You like tiaras, perhaps you simply forgot?”

George folded his arms. “I see. But then perhaps you also forgot to lock the trunk?”

I placed my arms around his waist, quite keen to show my support for his character. “If Georgie says he didn’t take it then I believe him. It must be a guest, one who knew the layout of the house and knew of Sophia’s tiara. Someone who either has a grudge, likes a joke or is jolly hard up.”

It was evident that we were not natural detectives and I found it hard to suspect one of our peers of the crime. Could it really have been one of the guests at our party a fortnight earlier? We compiled a list of who had been in attendance and concluded that most were too polite, too lazy or too stupid to commit such an atrocious act. None of us had fallen out with any of them and there had certainly been no blackmail letters in the post using our tiara as leverage. 

We were at a loss. If we didn’t misplace the quite extraordinary ‘coming out’ tiara, and our social peers were too unsuitable to take it, and if the servants were too good and decent, then who the bally well did steal it?

…

After hiding like cowards in our rooms all day whilst the servants continued plotting downstairs, Meg was the first to take a peek at what was going on.

“They’re having some kind of sit down,” she informed us as she crept back into the room.

“You mean a sit in?” I said.

“No, they’re just all sitting there, drinking tea from your mother’s old china pattern. The wine glass is still in pieces on the floor and they’re talking quietly. Do you think they’re all going to leave our employment?”

“Where would they go?” Sophia said. “Positions are hard to come by.”

George huffed. “Let them go! Teach them a lesson! I had sympathy but this takes the biscuit. Let them go without good references then see how well they had it here.”

I gasped. “I couldn’t let a man leave this house without a good reference. Besides, it’s thoroughly indecent to let others know that you’ve got disobedient servants.”

“Especially all of them at once,” Sophia said.

Meg prodded George. “And would you say that to their faces, about them needing to be taught a good lesson?”

“Of course not, I’m not stupid.”

“For a former Captain in the army, you’re not very good at facing an enemy, are you? Your public relations are terrible.”

“Not all of them.”

“This isn’t a war, Meg,” Sophia reminded her, “and they’re not our enemies. We need to reassure them that they are not suspects in this disappearance.”

There was a ring on the doorbell to interrupt Sophia’s suggestion and we soon realised that one of us would have to get out of the room, go downstairs and answer the door- a task normally reserved for Fettis but to which he was busy sitting down for the day. Trouble was it was a battlefield and not one of us wanted to venture over the top!

We took a vote and by a unanimous vote of three, Sophia was the elected party to face the gunfire so with her head held high she made her way downstairs, past the scowling servants and to the door. The others of us stood at the top of the grand staircase, hiding like children behind the bannisters as we watched Sophia work her magic.

When she opened the door, Lady Hendon was aghast to see her. “Goodness, where is Fettis?”

Sophia hesitated. “Uh…he’s in bed with a cold.”

“How terrible. Is there not a footman to answer the door, it’s most unusual for a young lady?”

Someone needed to remind Lady Hendon it was 1925 and servants were not the necessity they once were. Should Fettis have agreed to leave, I knew we’d never bother to replace him! Servant numbers were decreasing all the time and the future was sure to be a different world but that didn’t mean we wanted to lose them all at once and certainly not in such a dramatic fashion!

“It really is no bother,” Sophia said.

“May I come in?”

“No!” Sophia jumped onto the front steps, placing her arm in front of Lady Hendon as if it was some kind of barrier. 

Lady Hendon’s voice rose higher. “No?”

“What I mean is, it’s so much lovelier here on the doorstep, don’t you think?”

“On the doorstep…no.”

“Oh, really it is the best place for the sunshine. Sorry, what was it you wanted, Lady Hendon?”

Lady Hendon reached into her clutch bag and pulled out a small silk bag inside. She opened it up and suddenly we could see Sophia’s beautiful rose-cut diamond tiara sparkling magnificently in the sunlight. Oh the glorious colours dancing in the light! Oh that wonderful Edwardian tiara!

“My tiara!” Sophia screamed, quite forgetting herself.

“I’m very sorry about this but I do believe when we played that hiding game when I was last here, that I accidentally must have taken your exquisite rose-cut diamond tiara away with me.”

My first thought was how did one accidentally take a tiara away with them!

“I suppose you’re wondering how one accidentally takes a tiara away with them?” Lady Hendon said as if she’d read my mind.

Sophia smiled. “Yes, I suppose I am a mildly curious even though of course I had not noticed its absence.”

“Well you see I was hiding in that old trunk at your party when I got a sudden terrible attack of rheumatism. I clambered out but I suppose the tiara bag ribbon must have become attached to my dress. When I got home, I left my dress for my lady’s maid to take to the laundry but it was only several days ago I was notified by her that it was discovered at the bottom of the laundry hamper. I do believe servants can be the most honest of all creatures, don’t you?”

Sophia nodded and looked around at our servants who were all pretending not to listen.

“I’m dreadfully embarrassed, Mrs. Wells. I’m only glad you had yet to realise as I know myself the chaos it would cause should I have lost my own tiara. You do believe it was an accident, don’t you? After all, why would one steal a tiara when one already owns one?”

“I believe you, thank you for returning it. I would invite you in but owing to illness in the house, I regret that it may be unsafe.”

She looked horrified and grabbed her handkerchief. “In that case, I’ll get my driver to escort me home immediately. I am prone to the seasonal sniffles. Good day to you. Give my regards to your husband and those other two.”

…

I was of course very relieved that the tiara had been returned and despite my suspicions that I’d harboured for years about Lady Hendon being a kleptomaniac, I was deliriously happy that the servants were innocent and I would not be forced to dismiss anyone. I so hated confrontation. On the other hand, the servants were still rather angry with us and I had no idea how to make it up to them. After another unanimous vote of three, Sophia was pushed into the drawing room whilst we stood in the doorway watching her.

Sophia coughed lightly. “Loyal servants, it has come to our attentions that we owe you an apology.”

“Of course you do,” Billy said, “it was Lady Hendon what stole the crown thing, not us.”

“It’s actually a rather exquisite rose-cut diamond tiara,” George corrected him.

“Yeah that, you’ll imagine I’ve not seen too many of those.” Billy smirked and suddenly George’s appreciation of the stable-master seemed to dissolve in that reaction never to appear again.

Sophia coughed again. “Oh, you heard that, did you? Well she didn’t steal it per se, more took it unwittingly but yes, we are dreadfully sorry that you all were caught up in this. We didn’t wish to interrogate you all. If you could forgive us, we would be most grateful and in your debt. We are indeed lost without your services to our beautiful manor.”

“Too right,” Duckett said, “despite our needing these jobs and being in a right pickle without them, I believe it is you four who need us far more than we need you.”

Mrs. Warman, having a sudden burst of courage said: “He’s right. I don’t like to speak out of turn but since we’re being honest, do you even know how to boil some water, Ma’am?”

Sophia paused and looked at Meg. “Do I know how to boil water, Meg?”

“No, not really.”

“You’re right, of course you are. We all need you desperately. We’re quite embarrassingly dependent on you. How ever can we make it up to you?”

…

To which we received our answer and at the break of dawn the very next morning, I awoke George who was lying next to me on the bed. We were both curled up on the corner of the sheet whilst Bartholomew the Third took up three-quarters of the space. I slapped George on the bottom several times. “Wake up Georgie, time for work.”

He grumbled and rolled over. “Work at this hour, it’s barbaric.”

“We’ve lived through worse,” I said, throwing the cover off. “We better get dressed. I’ll go through the tunnel and wake up the ladies.”

When I arrived on the other side, calling out if they were decent, I found them already dressed and ready to go, looking at their new outfits in the mirror. Meg dressed in gardening overalls was not too much of a change but to see Sophia dressed in a maid’s outfit was rather a shock! Meg smiled and made her way to the tunnel, crawling on her knees and heading inside to find George and exit the bedroom together as man and wife- the way they were supposed to. I wondered if they could do it without an argument. 

“Don’t go too quickly, Meg,” I called after her. “He’s bound to still be trouser-less and you know how that offends you.”

…

With much reluctance we arrived downstairs and received our duties for the day. Meg was to take over from Duckett in the garden, though hardly a chore for her as she somewhat enjoyed being outdoors. Sophia was placed on cooking duty, beginning with learning how to boil a kettle. Owing to his injury, George was to sit down and polish the silver-wear, assisted by a very reluctant Bartholomew- who although now fed- was not keen on having little dusters strapped to his feet. And finally, my job was to muck out the stables. Quite how I’d ended up with the dirtiest job I was uncertain but I did not want to complain about my lot because I knew that my lot was a lot more than their lot. 

I tried to ignore Fettis’ smirk as I walked into the house some time later, my face dripping with sweat, my boots muddy, my arms and back aching. Sophia also appeared from downstairs, red-faced and mumbling something about the dinner menu. I think I can safely say this was the day we all came to really appreciate our servants!

George and I had seen war. We knew tough conditions but even after that life it did not prepare us for the slog of continuous labour and we couldn’t even live with the pride that we were doing it for king and country. 

It was only when the sun began to set that the amused servants finally relented, thanked us for our work, and agreed to bury the hatchet. They were our servants again. We were their masters. We had a new found respect. We had learnt the error of our ways. And I’d never been so relieved in all my life that the servants were no longer revolting! George even vowed to learn all their names!

Life under the roof of our beautiful manor was complicated, uncertain, strange and wonderful, and that summer of 1925 we learnt a lesson that would stay with us for the many years that followed. For if we were to expect our household to keep our secrets, to remain true and faithful, to accept our non-conventional existences- then we in turn had to treat them with the same curtesy and respect.


	3. The Outing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking a trip to the seaside with George, Meg and Sophia to meet his old friend Abdul, Toby finds himself with conflicting emotions over who he is supposed to be.

Driving along the twisting lane, I felt the wind in my hair and the sun beating down upon me with full intensity as the countryside whizzed past us, creating a blurred landscape like an impressionist painting. I had barely a care in the world at that moment except that my hands felt rather hot in the driving gloves. But I refused to not wear them for I was convinced I looked damned splendid in the brown leather and all would be envious of my fine taste in fashion. 

I could hear my three companions- Sophia and Meg in the back, and George in the front- chatting lightly but as of yet I had declined to talk, preferring the company of my imagination and the sights of the world as they passed by. I’d also come to realise that I loved driving. When I drove, I felt in control of my life which is a sensation I rarely experienced. I also had happy memories of Meg and I as young things, both desperate to learn to drive these new machines that scared the locals and turned everyone into wild animals, believing them to be the work of the devil. The machines were taking over! But if they were, I wanted to be on good terms with them.

I of course being older and male got the chance to drive first and Meg was so envious! When it finally came to her turn, I had the privilege (or burden) of teaching her and ever since then there was a somewhat rivalry between us over who was the better driver, though to Meg, better meant faster whereas mine meant getting to my desired location without a crash.

“I’m so looking forward to seeing Abdul again,” Meg enthused as I finally snapped out of my daydream.

I had to admit I was extremely excited about seeing my old friend again too. We hadn’t seen each other for so long and I missed him terribly. We’d been inseparable once but inevitably we drifted apart, called away to different ventures and different callings. 

“Who’s this Abdul fellow again?” George asked, trying to be nonchalant under the shade of his straw boater.

“I told you. He and I shared rooms at school. He was an exceptional chap. One of the kindest, sociable and creative people you’ll ever meet.”

“And he became a film director in Paris!” Sophia squealed. “I can’t believe you know someone famous.”

“I’ve never heard of him,” George replied.

“How many film directors do you know, George?” I asked.

He refused to answer. Typical. George was one of those fellows who could watch a film three times and forget the title a day later. 

Meg’s voice in contrast was alive with excitement. “Abdul’s also bringing along three actors. I always wanted to be an actress.”

“What stopped you, darling?” Sophia asked, resting her head against her lover.

“She can’t act!” I said.

I felt a hard slap across my shoulder.

“Meg, I’m driving!”

“Judas. Don’t tell Abdul what you really think of me. Besides it’s not acting I’m interested in anymore, it’s behind the camera, darling.”

George chuckled. “It only makes sense you wish to be behind the camera than in front, Meg.”

In a sudden fury, Meg grabbed George’s collar until he was awkwardly turned back to face her. “And what are you implying by that, shorty?”

“Nothing at all, I was joshing of course.”

I let out a loud sigh of dissatisfaction. “Will you stop manhandling him, Meg? You’re meant to be his wife. When we meet Abdul, we want to seem normal.”

“Why? He isn’t.”

“No but we’re supposed to be two happily married newly-wedded couples not the bright young things.”

Meg snorted. “Because all newly-wedded couples are happy? Perhaps George and I are normal.”

“Besides I thought you hadn’t told Abdul yet,” Sophia added.

“Well, no. But I want him to think as everyone else does, see how convincing we are as two married couples.”

“Oh well we wouldn’t want Abdul to be unconvinced, would we?” George griped.

“I simply meant I don’t want him to think badly of me.”

There was a grotesque snort from my love. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t realise we were meeting royalty.”

In that moment, irritated by George’s attitude, I swerved the car to the side of the road and stepped down harshly on the brakes.

“If you don’t like it George, you can always get out and walk.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

“Will you two shut up?” Meg screamed. “This is meant to be a fun outing with friends. You’re spoiling my good time.”

“George is behaving like a child!”

“I’m sorry. I’ll be quiet like an obedient lover who isn’t your property by marriage and who didn’t have the pleasure of your company at school.”

I gritted my teeth, angered by his insistence on being as childish as possible and started the car, refusing to let him ruin our trip. It was time to announce our marriages to Abdul but I didn’t know why George was being so petty about it. Yes, he was more at home with Bartholomew than on a crowded beach but why was he so impossible? More to the point why did Meg and Sophia never seem to argue in the way we did? I looked back at them, cuddled together, staring at one another, happily watching each other rather than the world outside. They would argue one day. They had to.

…

Arriving alongside the beautiful yellow sand that stretched for ages, I parked the car on the side of the promenade and sighed deeply, listening contentedly to the sound of the seagull chorus and the shrieks of happiness from children running back and forth into the sea. For many families it was a real treat, one that came along very infrequently and I suddenly felt rather guilty for moaning about our lot when our lot was a great deal better than most other peoples.

Meg helped her reluctant husband out of the car and the four of us stood arm in arm, unproductively once again in a line, standing like some flood barrier or wall- unwilling to let anyone batter us to the ground. We were the musketeers- all for one and one for all- but I feared we were losing George to the dark side, to the side of not wanting to be part of our team. 

“Tobias Wells! Toby, is that you, old friend?” said a voice from behind us and I spun to see the splendid figure of Abdul standing there, looking spiffing in a blue pin-stripe suit. It’d been so long since I’d seen him that his black hair was beginning to thin and he was fatter than I remembered but ultimately, he was the same mesmerising creature. He now even spoke half with a romantic Parisian accent.

I embraced him (which was quite unlike me in public) and caught a disapproving look from George. He tried to conceal it but I could see the disdain in his wide brown eyes. He looked away and as I observed him, his sandy-coloured hair fell into his face and he looked so young, much younger than his nearly forty years. He had looked so young when we’d first met too. I felt he could be eighty and still possess that same youthful face.

“You look so well, Toby,” Abdul said. He then took Meg’s hand and kissed it. “And little Meg! Goodness you look so grown up.”

Meg pushed Sophia forward to introduce her. “This is Sophia.” She then, remembering she had a husband, pointed to George. “And this is George Wynter.” Already Meg had let on that something was amiss in our arrangement. A lady always introduces her husband before her friend.

Abdul stuck out his hand for George to shake to which he took it begrudgingly and was quite unsporting as he shook. 

“And how do you all know one another?” Abdul asked.

There was a moment’s pause, a hesitation that came with this question whenever it was asked as though we forgot, or were ashamed or were scared of the reaction. Abdul laughed as we all looked to each other for confirmation. 

“Is it such an absurd question?” Abdul said.

I stammered. “No, no, of course not. We all live together. George and Meg are married to each other and Sophia is my wonderful wife.”

Abdul was certainly taken aback by the news, leaning his body away and opening his eyes wider than before. “Goodness me! How surprising you are, old boy. I never thought you were the marrying kind. Nor you, Meg, my girl. You were always rather different from the rest.”

I felt suddenly under the microscope as Abdul watched us as we carried our things from the car, heading to the changing huts to dress in more appropriate beach apparel. I felt extremely anxious. The friend I had not seen in a long time was summing me up and I wasn’t sure if I’d pass the examination. How would I get through this? Would I: 1. Ignore it and hope he stopped watching. 2. Wear a large sunhat over my head so I was harder to read or 3. Find the nearest pub and get so drunk I no longer remembered anyone was examining my actions in the first place. I chose option one and decided to ignore my worries, after all, Abdul was a good man and it was all down to my own insecurities not through any fault of his.

…

As we changed into our beachwear, there was a chilly silence between George and myself. I attempted to help him as he struggled with staying upright without his stick but he brushed me off. Instead he turned away to ignore me and we both remained silent as Abdul changed in front of us, stripping off proudly until he was standing tall and nude, no rush to confine himself to his costume. I noticed George had a quick glance at the goods before he resumed his pretending not to care act.

“Come on fellas, even the ladies will be ready quicker than us,” Abdul said slapping me on the thigh.

George hesitated as he looked down at his feet which were still covered by his socks and suspenders. It hadn’t occurred to me at the time but perhaps George was self-conscious of his foot injury.

“I’ll join you presently.”

Abdul smiled and then grabbed my arm, pulling me from the changing hut. 

When George emerged from the hut a while later, it was only then obvious to me he was self-conscious when he appeared in his socks and suspenders with his bathing costume.

Outside we were greeted by the sight of four pretty ladies in swimsuits. Sophia and Meg, I’m sorry to say were quite overshadowed by the movie star glamour of the two actresses beside them who were elegant and dressed to the nines. They were twin sisters and entertainers and very popular in Paris. Mallory was the blonde in the blue swimsuit whilst Vivienne the brunette in the daring red. They were the very definition of beauty as they stood next to those of us I dare to call ordinary.

Alongside Abdul, another man joined the group, a silent type named Michael who stood attractively in his costume but for the whole day uttered not a single word. He wasn’t shy. According to Abdul he had taken a vow of silence but to what purpose I had no idea.

Not before long, I joined Abdul in the sea and we splashed together among the waves, frolicking and laughing, wrestling and tugging at one another amongst the blue. At first, I hadn’t even considered what it must have looked like but then it occurred to me and I suddenly felt everyone watching us. I was even suspicious of the crabs judging my behaviour.

“I’m jolly shocked you decided to marry,” Abdul told me when we’d stop wrestling.

“Really, why?” I so cared about his opinion.

“Oh, it’s just you and Meg were so unconventional. And I remember you telling me that married life wasn’t for you.”

I looked down. “Things change. When Charlie died, I became master of the manor. I had new responsibilities.”

“I was so sorry to hear about Charlie. And I’m not judging you, Toby. Life beats you up, changes you. I admire you in a way. It must be very hard to marry a woman when you love George so much.”

I nearly swallowed a mouthful of seawater in the shock. “How did you know about me and George?”

I followed Abdul as we made our way back onto the sand. 

“I’m a director, I see the big picture. I also see the little details that make up a scene. I know how two people feel about each other. You and George, Meg and Sophia, but to everyone else…the opposite huh?

“You’re certainly something, Abdul.”

“So they tell me! Listen, Toby, circumstances change all of us but you don’t have to worry about who you are. I know the real Toby, the vulnerable one.”

I was always the vulnerable Toby. The world around me seemed impossible. The never-ending sea of my life so difficult to navigate through and I never knew whether the grey clouds gathering overhead were to arrive and destroy everything I had built, or whether they would pass softly overhead, missing me completely. Oh my life had been easier back then, in the school days with Abdul, in the days of innocent youth when we had been so close. We had shared in my earliest thoughts and feelings and experiences and in those days my future seemed it could be anything I wanted it to be, when war did not exist for us yet and a lifetime of worry did not seem possible.

As we approached our group, I could see George sitting on the sand talking to the sisters. I waved at him but he looked away sharply, refusing to register me. My fun day out was not faring well. All the outing had done was outed me, not as the man I really was but as the false me, the married one, the man I claimed I never would become. I was out forever as that Toby and there was no going back. And now even George was beginning to tire of it.

…

I sunbathed for a while after that, trying to relax, never able to as my thoughts and anxieties raced through my mind. I then watched my group of friends talking and enjoying the sunshine. George was buried to his neck in the sand and Meg beside him, seeming to enjoy his burial as she sprinkled tiny particles of sand onto his hair.

“You’re so pretty,” Mallory cooed at Sophia as she and Vivienne played with her hair and tried to convince her to go into show-business.

“No thank you,” Sophia replied, “I’d freeze in front of a film camera.”

“Not with me directing you, darling,” Meg said, using her hands and pretending they were a camera, placing splendid Sophia into the frame.

Sophia giggled and shook her away. “What have I said, Meg? I’m happy with photographs but don’t ask me to act!”

“I was as shy as anything when I started,” Vivienne said, “but then Abdul got the best out of me. Didn’t you, Abdul?”

Abdul, who up until that point had been having a one-sided conversation with Michael, finally joined the main group. “I get the best out of everyone, my flower.”

“Maybe you could help Meg become a director,” Sophia said.

I laughed at Meg’s sudden flushed cheeks.

“Meg interested in films eh? How wonderful! We should get together and create magic.”

I knew Abdul would lead Meg astray but I didn’t have the heart to interfere. If Meg wanted to try a new avenue, who was I to stop her? After all, she was already living a very different kind of life than the one she’d intended. 

As we sat there, the sun beating down on us, I spied Sophia under her parasol and it occurred to me in the hours that we’d been there I had spent so much time worrying about George and Abdul, that I had barely uttered a word to my own wife. In my desire to appear a normal married man I had done nothing that indicated I was anything but a bachelor.

Sitting beside her, I placed my arm around her shoulder and she took my arm and kissed it. “Hello you,” she said softly. We remained like that, arms around each other for a while, quite content but still feeling awkward as though it were for show.

Half an hour passed and we finally got up, ready to treat ourselves to some ice cream and a stroll along the pier. We all peered down at Georgie, up to his neck in sand, looking up at us with pleading eyes. 

“Help me out now, fellas,” he said.

We all laughed. 

“Oh George, you do look sweet,” Sophia said, leaning down and planting a kiss on his cheek, “like a little mole coming up to the light.”

“Lovely, maybe, adorable, definitely, but I can’t move.” He looked at his captors- Viv and Mal and smiled. “Ladies, could you dig me out now please?”

They giggled as Mal linked her arm through her sisters’. “Should we let him out?”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Oh, don’t be preposterous, I want to come with you and get some ice cream.”

“We’ll fetch it for you if you’re cosy,” Mal told him.

“You’re sadists, both of you, like my sisters Maude and Minerva. They weren’t twins but they were close and they used to gang up on me. Granted I was a little horror to them but still.”

“Poor you,” Mal said as she signalled for Viv and Michael to release him from his sandy tomb. “We can’t have you giving us twins a bad rap. We’re just teasing you because we like you, darling.”

“Thank you. I never said I disliked twins in fact I was very close to my own once upon a time.”

“You’re a twin, George? How did I not know that?” Meg said.

“Oh, I’m not anymore.”

“Goodness, they died?” Meg sounded upset and placed her arm around her husband.

“Well he did when I killed him off in 1912.”

The whole group looked at one another in bewilderment. 

“I felt terrible suggesting he go on the Titanic but he was very excited.”

More confused expressions followed.

“I should probably chip in to mention that George’s twin is of the imaginary sort,” I added. He had told me the story. George told me everything.

Abdul laughed. “Oh George, you’re such a character. Killing off your own imaginary twin, that could be a movie pitch.”

Meg slapped George on the arm. “I thought you had lost a brother! In future please confirm whether you’re talking about fake people or real ones.”

“It still hurt Meg. We were extremely close but my mother told me he was holding me back. Toby, I really wish you wouldn’t barge into the discussion?”

That hurt. He didn’t want anything to do with me. My day at the sea with George was a disaster.

I stopped talking then and caught Abdul’s gaze upon me. I hadn’t wished to upset George but he was clearly in attack mode and I was in his line of fire like a lost rabbit running from a hunter. It broke me to not be on speaking terms with him but he was acting so childish and I didn’t know what to do. Luckily his unusual stories usually broke any awkwardness and soon we were all heading off for our much-needed ice creams.

Meg and I sat together with our cornets lapped up with scoops of strawberry ice cream and cherries on top and we watched the sisters as they each sat perched on the shoulders of Abdul and Michael. A moment later the four of them were on the floor, giggling together as they became a mass of torsos, arms and legs. I didn’t want to judge but the way they were frolicking and writhing around seemed thoroughly indecent! I could tell Sophia felt the same but George seemed to be enjoying it immensely. I suppose it was more innocent than it looked but to my recent sensibilities it appeared wrong. Had I changed that much?

“Save some of the fun for me,” George said.

“You should join us in Paris, George,” Mallory told him, releasing herself from the huddle and then randomly doing a cartwheel across the sand. “We have parties all the time, especially after we’ve finished shooting.”

Abdul winked. “It’s hard work too of course but after slogging away for the perfect picture, one needs to unwind. Mal’s right, we have quite the parties. If any of you are ever in Paris you are of course invited. There’s only one rule…keep your morals at the door!”

Meg prodded me. “Are you alright, you’re very quiet?”

“I was just thinking that’s all.”

“About?”

“Have I changed, Meg, be honest?”

She hesitated.

“Oh great, I have! I’ve become my brother, haven’t I? I’ve become Charlie…or worse, father!”

“No, no, I didn’t say anything. Maybe you’ve changed a little, but Toby dear, you have the hardest job. You have to run the estate. You have to be sensible. We rely on you. It’d be impossible for you not to change a little.”

“But I had such plans. I was a dreamer. At school I was thinking of all I could see, do, people I would meet.”

“That’s just it though. Even then you planned. You can’t plan life, Toby, it doesn’t work that way.”

“True but how did I become so conventional? Even with the circumstances thrown at me, I drifted from Abdul and whilst he throws quite dodgy sounding parties, I sit with my wife, cousin, and George and drink tea and play chess.”

“I think you’ve forgotten our situation isn’t quite so conventional.”

I laughed. “I suppose you’re right. But it’s not in the open, Meg. It never can be. But Abdul and the girls and Michael, they’re out and proud, not in our sense but in the sense that they’re living in the moment, breaking out of the social norms and showing the world they can. I’ve never felt so…ordinary as I do right now.”

“One minute you want to be like everyone else and then the next you want to be different?”

I placed my head in my hands. “It must be terrible living with me. I’m so contradictory.”

Meg hugged me tightly. “You’re not seventeen anymore. You’re not a film actor or a party animal and you’re not Abdul.”

“No. He is quite something, isn’t he?”

“Yes, dear cousin, he’s handsome, talented, fearless.”

I looked over at George, still dusting himself off from the sand. “But he’s not my Georgie.”

“No, and speaking of which, I wouldn’t like my convenient husband to think I was helping him out but really Toby, you’re quite dense when it comes to matters of the heart. You know why he’s been so moody today, don’t you?”

“Because I’ve been paying attention to Abdul?”

She placed her head on my shoulder. “I think you and George need to talk.”

And that’s what we did, George and I as we sat upon one of the sand dunes and watched the clouds making peculiar formations in the sky. We pointed up at them and decided what the shapes reminded us of and whilst I saw one as an aeroplane, George was quite convinced unsurprisingly that it was a cat with a long tail. We contemplated the clouds a little longer before we finally ventured into the more serious discussion. I bravely went first.

“I’m sorry. I really never meant to make you jealous. Today I think I was searching for a part of my past that I can’t get back. Abdul’s a great man but he’s not…”

With a sigh, George finally looked at me and not the sand between his fingertips. “I know. I suppose in reflection it was rather childish of me to act the way I did. I’m still rather worried one day you’ll realise you could do better than silly old me.”

I smirked. “I realised it already but you can’t help your feelings, can you?”

I felt a handful of sand hit me in the face and my assailant was smirking as he threw his hands up in a form of surrender. 

“Oh, it’s war is it?” I said, throwing some sand into his hair. 

“I surrendered!” George said through laughter.

“I reject it!”

He grabbed my arms to stop me from seizing more sand and we were giggling as we wrestled together, trying to stop each other from reaching it. It resembled the scene of Abdul and I in the water but this time I barely noticed if anyone was watching, too caught up in being with George. If only I could feel that way all the time.

“We should go soon,” George finally said, breathless and squinting in the light. “Bartholomew will be getting worried.”

“Oh George, with the love of your cat and your imaginary twin brother, I’d never have you any other way.”

“And I you, Toby, so stop for heaven’s sake, trying to be a copy of Abdul. Stop trying to be anyone but yourself.”

…

On the way home I volunteered to drive as Meg had been on the cocktails all afternoon and she wasn’t a safe driver sober let alone drunk. Sophia sat next to me in the front seat and we laughed as we glanced behind us and caught the sight of George and Meg fast asleep in the back, husband and wife curled up together like two kittens. 

“How adorable are they?” Sophia said.

“Do you think we should take a photograph of them?” I said but I saw the camera clutched between Meg’s fingers, unable to be torn away. “Perhaps not.”

“If only they could get on in the way we do.”

“True. It’s so much easier to play husband and wife when you have a connection.” I squeezed her hand. “Oh, darling Sophia, if only we were made for each other in that way then we need not pretend.”

“Don’t be silly, you’d never want that. You were made for George.”

“But life would be easier.”

“But not better, Toby. I have a life with Meg that I can’t have with you.”

I smiled. She was right. She so often spoke sense of our situation. She was my best friend. 

“Do you think one day we’ll look back on this and have a good laugh about it?” I said.

“We’ll write our memoirs,” she replied, shivering as the evening air set in around us, “well…you and I will. I dread to think what would happen if we left it to those two! Too many gory details!”

We laughed. 

“You’re right though. One day we’ll be able to tell our story,” I mused, “warts and all!”

…

Our beautiful Elmwood Manor was a sight for sore eyes when we returned, bathed in a glorious orange hue from the setting sun, and although I complained often about how the house held me prisoner in some way, I really did love that place, my home, and adored all who resided under that roof.

When Fettis opened the door and helped with our bags, we stood in the hallway by the staircase and watched as Bartholomew raced downstairs to his owner, immediately jumping onto George’s shoulder and sitting like a parrot would upon a pirate.

We retired to the living room that evening and sat, we four, quite contently on our favourite settee- all as comfortable as could be, snuggled up together, our tired eyes closing. My heartbeat quickened as I felt George’s hand on mine. He stroked my fingers and when I looked at him, he was smiling at me. Everything felt right. I was not twenty years old. I was not innocent. I had seen the world at its worst and been through grief and torment. I’d come to learn that no two people were alike and that everyone had their own journey, their own path to travel. The path was not determined and no doubt I would change again in the future, but I had to live life as best as I could in the moment without fear or worry of what those around me were thinking. It wasn’t going to be easy and I knew I would forever be plagued by this feeling but if I could escape it for a moment or two then I would be fine. 

“There’s my Toby,” George said as he snapped me from my daydream and turned my face to look at him.

“There’s our Toby,” Meg added. “We wouldn’t have you any other way.”


	4. Every Picture Tells a Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some private photographs taken at the manor cause some problems when they fall into the wrong hands.

The manor house had been quiet for a fortnight. It was unusual for it to be so silent but with our ladies on a trip to Paris to visit Abdul, it felt rather a different place entirely and there had been upsides and downsides to our separation. The upside was that George and I had endless time alone and were able to kiss and cuddle without interruption from the ladies and we had no unnecessary marriage obligations to fulfil. The downside was that we missed them. The first week was bliss but by the end of the second week, it was obvious George and I were becoming wilting flowers in their absence. We hadn’t realised how close the four of us had become together as a unit until two of us were missing.

It had been my idea for Meg and Sophia to join Abdul in Paris and I had politely declined his invitation for myself as I felt it would cause fractures in my relationship with George. It was the best decision all round. Sophia and Meg would be able to visit a romantic city where they could shop, dine, and hopefully not attend any strange parties, and George and I would relax at home in our beautiful manor, able to be ourselves for the short time we were alone.

When they arrived back one rainy morning, Fettis was carrying their luggage from the car, and I raced over to greet them, flinging my arms around them, kissing their cheeks in happiness. They looked different somehow. They seemed so content and relaxed. I rather envied them. Perhaps George and I should’ve taken a break to an exotic country.

Meg was waving her camera at us. “Photographs!” she said. “You must see the photographs.”

George nudged her. “Excuse me, dearest wife, but one hopes presents precede the photographs.”

She laughed and kissed his cheek. “Oh alright, to the living room!”

…

Eventually, after the gift-giving and lots of chatter from the ladies about their wonderful trip, things settled back to normal and we were very much the unit I missed. We had one evening where Meg subjected us to a rather long slideshow of her holiday photographs to which I allowed the servants to join us and despite a few stifled yawns from George, all in all it felt wonderful for our wives to be home. Meg was passionate about the photographs and it awakened a sort of beast in her. She seemed to want to photograph everything!

Photography and Meg were inseparable and by the time late summer rolled around, she and her camera followed us everywhere as if we were subjects in some study. To Meg, photography was an art, a way to capture moments and keep them forever. She particularly liked photographing people and much of her work consisted of George eating breakfast with the cat on his lap; Sophia sat reading by the rose bushes, or myself at the wheel of my car, ready for an early evening drive. My cousin had quite the eye for composition and managed to find a way to inject life into still pictures that told very much about the subject and character. It was during this time that George also fell under the photography spell and although he did not share her talent, it finally gave the married couple—Mr. and Mrs. Wynter—something to share other than their name.

“That’s right, Georgie,” I heard Meg say as Sophia and I sat together on the lawn, next to the picnic hamper.

George was positioned on the bench with his beloved cat on his lap. He loved being the model and I heard the couple laughing and joking as they resumed the activity. I listened to their conversation.

“Chin up a little, George,” Meg said.

He obliged and leaned back, very much regally as though he was sitting on a royal throne. Meg, with her fashionable bob-haircut, long cardigan, and trousers, looked every inch the artiste as she held her hands in some sort of directorial way as though shooting a film. We knew Abdul had shown her his film studio and she’d clearly been inspired by his techniques.

“I can’t believe how talented you are,” George told her.

“Can’t?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I simply meant it’s hard to find creatives around here.”

“Well every family has an artist and Toby’s certainly not ours!”

I called over, “I heard that.”

“I’m complimenting you, Meg,” George began, “as I’m told time and time again, you’re my wife.”

“Thank you. And you’re a great model. In fact, wouldn’t it be rather more fun to take different kinds of photographs?”

“You have. The car, the cat, the flowers; people.”

“No,” she said, sitting beside him. “I mean the four of us. The real us. None of this boring posing.”

“Meg, what are you plotting?” Sophia asked, beckoning them over.

Meg and George joined us on the blanket and helped themselves to the sandwiches. Cucumber sandwiches. Delicious.

“Everyone takes these kinds of pictures. I want to show the four of us as we really are.”

I sighed. “I really wish you wouldn’t. Isn’t the whole point of our lives not to show who we really are?”

“To the outside world, yes, but why shouldn’t we do it here, for us? No one will see them!”

“I will.”

“Oh, don’t be a spoil sport, Toby. Imagine what we could do? Risqué costumes, pictures of us as couples.”

“We could swap clothes!” George enthused with a naughty expression.

“And we could show affection. Photographs are far too stern sometimes,” Sophia added.

“Not you as well. I thought you were my sensible ally.”

“It’s private, Toby, that’s a different matter.”

“It’s England, everything’s private until it’s not.”

She pouted her lips like an innocent child. “It would be fun for all of us.”

I sighed again. “Very well. But as master of the house I reserve the right to refuse any photographs I think are too risky.”

The three saluted at me. 

And they enjoyed the rest of the picnic, chatting about ideas whilst I sat in silence, brooding with anxiety. I liked the idea in theory, relished the thought of having photographs with George that showcased the real us but part of me was terrified we’d be exposed. Exposure was my greatest fear. Like a camera, our lives were both light and dark and too much exposure would almost certainly ruin things. I never wanted to become over-exposed.

…

“Put your arm around him, Toby,” Meg said to me as she held her camera in front of George and myself as we sat together in the library a few days later. 

I normally felt comfortable with my arms around my love but with Meg and a camera watching, I suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. I placed my arm around his shoulder but felt my hands stiffen.

“Oh Toby, you look like a mannequin,” Sophia said, suddenly appearing behind Meg and for some reason wearing a swimsuit. A swimsuit in the library! Bare legs by the books! What a scene it was!

George massaged my shoulders. “You’re far too tense, darling.”

“Of course I am! We’re in the library, acting as though we’re at one of Abdul’s parties.”

“I’ve an idea,” Meg said, ignoring me, standing me up and sitting me down upon George’s lap. She then looked into the camera with excitement. “Oh yes, that looks wonderful. You look so content there. Lovers surrounded by wonderful books.”

I felt my cheeks reddening. Thanks goodness photographs were in black and white!

“Are you sure this is appropriate?” I said as George tickled my chin like I was Bartholomew III.

“They’re pictures just for us,” he said.

“And it looks…alright?”

“It looks positively fabulous,” Sophia said.

I didn’t feel positively fabulous. What if the servants were looking through the keyhole? 

Granted I should have worried less, after all I was raised by an easy-going father who allowed Meg—  
even encouraged her— to try anything my brother Charlie and I were doing. But even my father had boundaries and it was not common for family and friends to allow one another to dress up in skimpy costumes and take photographs of one another on each other’s laps. And if it was common, well they did a good job hiding it! But maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was more common than I imagined. Maybe I was the strange one? My life thus far had been images of relatives in sepia tone, caught in a single moment, looking as though they spent their lives with a stick up their backsides. Maybe it was time to see life behind the camera, the other side of people, the real side. After all, the photographs of our time rarely showed the smiles, the teasing, the laughter and the fun we had in each other’s company—everything we did was masked.

Sophia was photographed next, followed by George capturing our ladies wearing nothing much more than their under-things—petticoats and such. It was all rather embarrassing. Finally, it was the clothes-swap where Meg and Sophia emerged wearing dinner jackets and trousers and I found myself wearing a dress. George was a natural. He put on a dress like it was second nature but I confess I felt all so rather silly, and in all honesty, I admit I didn’t like wearing it. I imagined the servants looking through the keyhole again. I pictured Fettis on his hands and knees, watching and smiling as the bizarre risqué tableaux folded out in front of him. How he would judge.

Still wearing the dresses (which consisted of far too many frills and bows and looked like they belonged in the Victorian era and not the 20th century) George took my hand and led me to the middle of the floor for a waltz to no music. For a moment, dancing with him, his head upon my chest, I felt all the stresses fade away— and all the worries, all the pressures, they vanished and I had a glimpse of what I wished my life could be more like in an accepting world. Perhaps I wouldn’t be wearing a ghastly dress but the freedom of it, oh it was glorious. My new family were right. This was the real us.

I could sense Meg taking more photographs but during that waltz, I’m surprised to say, it didn’t faze me.

“Let’s dance too,” I heard Sophia say. They joined us in the centre of the room, throwing their arms around each other and dancing.

By the time we finished and Meg had taken the assortment of cheeky photographs, we were quite exhausted and barely had the energy to entertain that evening but frustratingly we’d invited the Hendons and the Barringtons to dinner and one could not put off guests when we’d already invited them. I don’t think I remember a single word I said during that entire evening. It was one of those nights which was instantly forgettable.

…

For a few days after, the manor house was unusually quiet, and one morning we sat down quite contently for breakfast with little thought to the disaster that awaited us. Fettis placed the breakfast trays onto the table for George and myself and then left a crisp newspaper at my side. He held his hand over it possessively. “Are you sure you want the paper this morning, Sir?”

“Of course, Fettis,” I said but he held his hand on it, not wanting to let it go. I practically had to wrestle the paper from his grasp and appeared to be having a tug of war with my butler at half-past-eight in the morning.

Finally, he released it, bowed, and left us to our meal. I ignored the strange behaviour and licked my lips as I looked at the selection of sumptuous breakfast goodies. I turned my attention to the boiled egg and soldiers. Making sure we were alone, I looked at George. 

“I chose this for breakfast because I know how much you love your soldiers.”

He smirked and squeezed my knee under the table. “With our wives able to have their breakfast in bed, it’s almost like this rule was made for us to enjoy each other’s company without Meg nagging in my ear.”

“We didn’t have them at all recently when they were in Paris.”

“What bliss it was.” George laughed.

“I’ll freely admit that this is the most relaxing time of my day. I’ve got my coffee. I’ve got my hearty breakfast of runny egg and toast soldiers for dipping, and I’ve got my Georgie. All that can make it better is the nice crisp and ironed weekly local newspaper.”

I picked it up, sighing happily. My comfort. The world events were far too grim for the morning and would sour my breakfast so I saved that pleasure of reading about the wider state of the world for the evening. But ah yes, the lovely local newspaper which reported solely on joyous weddings and births, neighbourly nothingness and normality. It soothed me considerably. I unfolded the paper until it was flat upon the table and took a sip of my coffee. I read the headline and looked at the photographs, and then the contents of my mouth flew across the table. I dropped the cup back onto the saucer with a clatter.

“Good God!” I cried.

With the edge of the tablecloth, George was mopping. I could hear him speaking but couldn’t make out the words because I was in a state of shock. There, in big letters, read: ‘Manor of Impropriety’ and underneath were two photographs— one of Meg and Sophia dressed in men’s attire, kissing each other’s lips—and one photograph of George sitting upon my knee wearing a feather boa around his shoulders whilst I had a lady’s bonnet upon my head. With panic I flicked through the rest of the paper and there were three whole pages dedicated to us and our ‘photography’ session. Granted I was relieved none of the more graphic or risqué photos were printed but nonetheless the story was very much there in black and white for the whole town to read what the four of us got up to behind closed doors. The paper said there were other photographs too and then described us frolicking, kissing, dressing-up. It didn’t suggest specifically that George and I were lovers but that didn’t matter— this was a scandal of the highest degree and I felt as though my whole world was about to collapse. We had been well and truly exposed!

“Meg!” I screamed upstairs as I tossed the paper at George. “Meg!”

When the ladies had the misfortune to read the headline, Sophia was inconsolable and buried her face upon George’s shoulder.

“Oh, how could this happen?!” she said, fighting back the tears.

George stroked her hair awkwardly. “There, there, my dear. It’s not so terrible, surely?”

“No so terrible?” I could feel my voice cracking at the absurdity of George’s so-called wisdom. “George, this is a calamity!”

“Let them think what they like.”

“And be arrested?” I shouted.

“They can’t arrest us for photography.”

Meg slumped onto the chair. “How did this even happen?”

“You and your blasted camera, Meg!” 

I lost it. I was ashamed to admit it. But I was so angry I could barely breathe.

“Don’t blame me, they were private. Exactly how did they come to be in print? You don’t think it was one of the servants?”

“Now don’t start that again,” I said.

In my panic, I hadn’t even considered that fact: that someone had done this on purpose, targeted us, stolen our private photographs. I felt violated and betrayed. I touched Meg’s arm lightly. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout at you, Meg. I’m upset.”

“I’m upset too.”

“Let’s not panic,” George said and suddenly he was the only one of us either not crying or pacing. “Anything done can be undone. You think this is the first time I’ve been caught out doing something I shouldn’t?”

We all spun to look at him. 

“What are you talking about?” Meg asked.

“We have money. Money buys certain privileges. We can hush this up no problem.”

Meg sighed. “It’s already out, George. How can it be hushed up?”

“I didn’t say it was a perfect plan. All I mean is I’ve been in tight spots before and I’ve always found a way out of them.”

Sophia groaned and fell into Meg’s arms, gripping her tightly. They both fell silent for several moments until finally, rational Sophia wiped her eyes, stood to attention, folded her arms, and paced in front of us like an army major.

“George in a peculiar way…is right,” she said. “The initial damage is done but there must be some way to keep that damage at a minimum. We need to repair the situation and restore us to some kind of normality.”

There was a sudden knock at the door and we all jumped into the air.

“Sir?” It was Fettis.

“Fettis!” We all screamed at the same time.

Oh God. Fettis had seen the paper! It must have seen by all the servants and that was why he was acting so peculiarly. George may have been calm; Sophia may have been rational, but I was at breaking point!

…

As Meg, Sophia and George stayed in the dining room, I hurried to the study with Fettis and closed the door behind us.

“I know what you must be thinking, Fettis,” I stammered, my face surely as red as a tomato.

“And what is it that you think we are thinking, Sir?” he asked, matter-of-factly. 

“You’re all shocked, ashamed to work for us. But Fettis, a moment for explanation. Those photographs do not tell our side of the story. A snapshot in time is not a true reflection of oneself.”

“I assure you, Sir, the staff and I are well aware of any such…eccentricities in this household.”

“You are? Which eccentricities do you refer to, Fettis?”

“It’s not our duty to have opinions on what you do with a camera and especially behind closed doors. A scoundrel has betrayed your trust, Sir. Nobody should be seeing those pictures at all.”

“I see. So, you deplore the scoundrel who published them but how do you feel about the photographs themselves?”

“I have no opinion on them, Sir.”

“You must have. Everyone has opinions. One day people might actually have courage to say them aloud even when everyone tells them to stop doing it.”

“I shudder at the thought.”

“You said what you felt when Mrs. Wells’ tiara was stolen.”

“Exceptional circumstances.”

“I see. So, am I to gather from our little talk that you and our other terrific servants shall not discuss this further?”

“We shall not.”

“And you don’t fear you shall be tainted?”

Fettis let out a slight smile. “There are worse things in a household, Sir, far worse, and we shall weather the storm together.”

I felt the tears rise in my eyes. Fettis had, in his own reserved and formal way, shown me that the faithful servants were on our side. The photographs were unconventional and inconvenient for some but this was an invasion of privacy first and foremost. We were not to blame. 

…

My conversation with Fettis had quite reassured me so when I left the room, I was not prepared to see the sight of servants scurrying to-and-fro, opening cupboards and drawers. I approached our maid Eleanor who seemed to be searching for something with fierce determination on her face.

“What is it, Eleanor?”

“We’re looking for the camera, Sir. The mistress is very upset that it’s missing.”

“The camera’s missing too, I thought it was just the film?”

Meg appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Her hair was a mass of tangles and cobwebs.

“Some rotter’s stolen my camera, Toby!” she cried as she fell into my arms.

I thought back for a moment and suddenly my mind transported me to the dinner we held on that last Thursday evening, the day we had taken the photographs in the library. That was also the night of the dinner with the Hendons and the Barringtons.

The ringing of the doorbell then quite startled me and before Meg had straightened herself out, Fettis was showing a sheepish-looking Lady Hendon into our eyelines. 

“Lady Hendon,” Fettis announced before leaving us to it.

Lady Hendon stood smiling widely, clutching a bag.

“What can we do for you, Lady Hendon?” I asked, quite irritated by the woman’s terribly bad timing. She had probably arrived to cut off all ties with us—after all, she claimed to be a woman of utmost moral fibre. 

“Forgive me, Mr. Wells, Mrs. Wynter. I do feel like a barking old lady. Oh goodness, I can’t believe what I’ve done.”

Meg glanced at me as Lady Hendon pulled out her camera from the bag. We gasped.

With a succession of stammers, Lady Hendon finally spoke. “Oh dear. When I was dining with you the other night, wonderful salmon, I happened to notice your glorious camera on the piano. It must have then fallen into my handbag for I discovered it two days ago there.” She chuckled.

There she was, a grand lady of seventy-years-of-age, accidentally dropping things into her bag again. I knew she was quite capable of stealing Meg’s camera, but it seemed so unlike her to sell pictures to a newspaper. She was a kleptomaniac, of that I was convinced, but was she really as cruel as that?

“Can you forgive an old lady’s carelessness?” she said.

“Did you show the negatives to anyone else?” Meg asked. I could see she was trying not to interrogate the woman, but my cousin, I think, was beginning to lose her rag.

“What are negatives?” Lady Hendon replied. “I’m sorry. I have no clue as to how the contraption works, my dear. I did show my son though. He told me he’d return it to you but I don’t think he found the time. He’s quite busy running that newspaper office of his.”

“Gregory!” Meg and I shouted at the same time.

The son of Lord and Lady Hendon, Gregory Francis, was a spoilt man of thirty-five who aside from being the most obnoxious of the seven children, was also the man who at twenty-years-of-age had proposed to our Meg by the blossom tree despite advice from me that she would most definitely refuse. Not only did she refuse him but she let him down quite brutally by telling him he was repulsive before kicking the tree so that one of the branches fell and landed on his head! She still maintains it was an accident. 

In fairness to my cousin, we’d grown up with Gregory and he was so slimy that everyone avoided him. When we were children, he bullied and teased Meg for dressing like a boy but then when she grew…certain assets, his interest in her suddenly changed. And whilst his interest in those assets increased, I only became interested in the assets of young men. In fact, had Gregory not been so slimy and dastardly, one may have even found his assets attractive.

“Out of curiosity,” I asked Lady Hendon, “did you read the local paper this morning?”

“I don’t read local papers, my dears. I have little interest in what people are doing.”

The lies! Lady Hendon had only interest in what people were doing!

“Your son has published our photographs!” Meg shouted, forgetting her manners.

“I’m sure he’ll give credit. He’s rather fond of you.”

“It’s not the credit that’s the problem, Madam. Your son has stolen Meg’s property and then slandered us!”

“I’m sure I know nothing about that. Well don’t worry, I’ll speak with him. I’m sure it was a misunderstanding. He’s a good boy really.”

We gave up then. Lady Hendon was never going to understand. Gregory was her thirty-five-year-old baby and arguing with her was quite pointless. So, we let her leave unchallenged (despite stealing Meg’s camera) and Meg and I told George and Sophia what had transpired. 

Sophia seemed to be the most shocked that Meg had never told her about Gregory.

“Why would I want to remind myself of that day?” Meg said.

“I told you about all my proposals.”

“Just how many have you had?” I asked.

“Oh, not many, five or six.”

“I’m surprised someone proposed to you, Meg,” George suddenly said to which the three of us turned sharply to face him.

Meg’s face was red with frustration. “I beg your pardon?”

George stammered. “I’m sorry, my dear, you’re lovely of course, a real flower, but you do have rather…a temper.”

“I do not!” Meg exploded.

Well that was their ‘getting on’ period over for the time being. If only George could learn not to put his foot in it. I think he’d forgotten the fact he was also someone who had proposed to Meg, albeit half-heartedly. 

“We’re arguing with each other when we should be arguing with this Gregory fellow,” Sophia said, waving her arms about in her bizarre arm language again.

“Who’s going to confront him?” Meg said. “I could have a go.”

I placed my arm around her shoulder. “Margaret Wynter, you do not have my permission to kill Gregory.”

“Not kill, just maim.”

“Sophia and I will see him. Meg, you and George go into the village and see if anyone has noticed the situation.”

“Toby dear, we’re on the front page of the paper everyone reads, of course we’ll be noticed. Most other days is a story about crop rotation and an upcoming fete. You were wearing a ladies bonnet for goodness sakes!” George said.

“Thanks for reminding me.”

…

With a fury in my body and an ache in my heart, Sophia and I walked together arm in arm to meet Gregory. When we arrived at his office, he was not surprised to see us and was sorting through large amounts of paperwork.

“How could you do it, Gregory?” I spluttered, wishing to leap across the desk and strangle him. 

Sophia’s fingers intertwined with mine and we stood formidably, always stronger as one.

He circled his desk. “Because it was easy, Toby. It was curiosity at first, didn’t know what the pictures were but oh what a surprise to see Meg in that way when I had them developed. Not such a lady anymore, is she? And then you sophisticated Sophia and you careful sensible Toby. How little everyone knew of your habits. It was like striking gold to find them. George came as no surprise, wouldn’t to anyone with a brain. Everyone in London’s heard the rumours. He’s always been odd.”

I felt my hands clench tightly and had Sophia not been witness I knew that would have been the moment I hit him. Instead I turned away. “You’re not worth it, Gregory.”

Sophia rubbed my arm and then looked at him. “A woman refusing you is no justification for your actions. You do not own Meg. She is not your property. Revenge as a punishment for rejection is most un-gentleman-like.”

Had my Sophia told him off? I smiled, grabbed her hand and we walked into the afternoon sunshine as it emerged from some fluffy white clouds. There may also have been bluebirds. Or I may have fabricated these details. I couldn’t recall those elements but I remember exactly how I felt, knowing that I was a better person than Gregory. I may have been strange but I was better.

“You were incredible, Sophia. Meg will be so pleased when I tell her what you said.”

“No one talks about Meg like that!”

“Or my George. I wanted to hit him!”

“Me too, don’t mistake my gentility. We all have thoughts like that, only we’re taught to control and conceal them.”

At that exact moment, I spied our Meg running into view.

“Where’s George?” I asked.

“I have no idea. It was so strange. We were walking around, trying to avoid all the staring and whispering when he suddenly began walking terribly fast. Last I heard was when he called to me from the back of a milk cart, telling me he had something to take care of.”

“What is our Georgie up to?” Sophia said.

“And what about Gregory?” Meg asked, pushing into the middle of us and linking arms with us both. I wondered if anyone watching would make something of our scene.

And so, we told Meg of our brief meeting and how Sophia had stood up for her, how Gregory had been vengeful, and how at the end of it all, he had already done the worst. There was no more we could do without stooping to his level. 

Our scandalous photographs were already out. We were the strange foursome at the manor. What mattered next was gaining back our respect and I needed the estate and its people to trust me, not think of me as unapproachable or morally dubious. I wanted to be the master, the true and honourable gentleman, not the unusual man at the house, shown in all his true debauchery. That I couldn’t bear. 

…

Waiting for us when we arrived home was George, standing in the hall by the telephone, having at that moment placed down the receiver. It was an unusual sight, for George never made telephone calls. He was also sporting an accidental milk moustache which was not quite so unusual.

“George, who were you talking to?” I asked.

“Why, Abdul of course.”

“Abdul?” The Three of us spoke at the same time, turning to face him. We were becoming all too synchronised.

“Why were you talking to him?” I asked.

“I telephoned our exotic friend to confirm that he’ll be telling the newspapers about the new film he’s directing, set here at the manor.”

I was lost. Meg was lost. Sophia was lost. It was as though a mist had descended upon us and I was unable to pass through its density. His meaning was escaping me completely.

“It’s quite simple,” George began to explain, “Abdul’s going to tell the papers that the photographs were scenes from his new film, set at the manor. He’s happy to explain that we were filling in before the actors arrived.”

“My God, George!” I shouted, grabbing him and kissing his cheek.

I quite forgot myself for a moment.

“How ingenious to think of Abdul,” Sophia added, clapping.

“I simply thought that Abdul is a big fish in these waters and that he’s a success story. He’s popular among the locals and I can see them taking anything he says as gospel. We weren’t really cross-dressing; we were in costume for a film!”

I could breathe again. The world suddenly seemed lighter. George our hero. St. George of Elmwood Manor!

Meg approached her husband and I was unsure what she was intending, but then surprisingly she kissed his cheek and then embraced him. “Thank you…husband.”

George glanced at me over Meg’s shoulder. He was smiling. “I say, you’re very welcome…wife.”

I smiled. They were alright again. I could only hope that their relationship would deepen even more with time.

“You know I used to be rather envious of that man,” George said, “but he really has saved our bacon.”

There was a sudden meow from the cat.

“At six, Bartholomew, dinner is at six!”


	5. An Un-Ideal Husband

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toby and friends are under pressure when Sophia's parents arrive for the Christmas and New Year period. Can they keep their cool?

“George put on your trousers!”

“And your shirt!”

“George, put some clothes on, any, we beg you.”

If you’re wondering who said this— it was myself, Meg, and Sophia in that order, pleading with him as he stood as naked as the day he was born, at the bottom of the stairs one freezing December.

You’re probably more likely wondering why George was naked. We wondered that ourselves and concluded that it could only have been one of four different reasons.

Either 1. George had simply forgotten he was naked through tiredness or delirium. 2. He’d drunk far too much Christmas sherry and no longer had any inhibitions. 3. He’d finally lost his marbles and assumed he was somewhere else entirely or 4. He hated us all and wanted to punish us in the most barbaric way possible.

“Georgie, please, why are you doing this?” I cried, taking off my blazer and placing it around his middle. 

“Doing what?” he asked. 

So, it was either reason 1, 2 or 3. At least he wasn’t being malicious!

“You’re naked, you idiot!” Meg shouted.

He jumped, startled by her loud voice. “I am?”

There was a gasp and then we saw his pinkish flesh pass us in a blur as he disappeared up the stairs. It was then we determined it was reason number 1. He was tired and delirious which was no surprise considering Sophia’s parents had been staying with us for the week. The pretence of acting normal had clearly sent him over the edge and I knew that Meg, Sophia and I would not be far behind him to jump.

Luckily Sophia’s parents— Mr. and Mrs. Emberley-Phillips— arrived in the hallway from breakfast after George had displayed his splendid nakedness and therefore did not catch a glimpse of his crown jewels. For as lovely as his jewels were, they were not for public exhibition. 

It was not that I minded the presence of Sophia’s parents, more so I didn’t like the person I became when I was with them. They had this image of their Tobias Wells, husband of their daughter, noble estate owner and honest and reliable fellow. Some of this was true but it aggravated me playing the reliable normal Tobias role when there was more to Toby than simply Lord of the Manor.

For much of their stay, they were pleasant enough and we knew it was about time I got to know them as my parents-in-law. But whether they were my relatives by blood or joined to me by marriage, the most infuriating thing about anyone’s relatives was whenever they brought up the subject of offspring. Whether you had none, too many, or weren’t sure, it was never right.

“You’ll have your hands full when the children arrive,” Mr. Emberley-Phillips would say as though it were a certainty. 

To what was he even referring to about hands being full anyway? Weren’t my hands full enough now? And another thing, why did people always make it sound as though children were being shipped to the manor rather than born in the bedroom with a midwife present?

Whenever the child subject arose, Sophia would glance quickly at me and then smile awkwardly at her father, nodding and laughing politely but wanting the ground to swallow her up. Did Sophia want children? I was afraid to ask but we’d all agreed upon our way of life and nothing was going to change it. It would be far too complicated.

…

At this point in the story you’re probably wondering how this whole business began, how Sophia’s parents came to be staying with us and why the four of us were beginning to lose the plot. To tell you that I should probably explain the events that took place during the autumn months when life for some unknown reason was quiet and calm and the beautiful red and orange leaves fell from the trees in the garden, creating a blanket of colour beneath our feet.

The ‘fake’ film Abdul and the manor were to appear in had fallen through due to ‘budgetary restraints’ and to compensate for the disappointment, our handsome friend opened the Harvest Festival with his two leading ladies—Mallory and Vivienne—at his side. The vicar of our local church had never seen so much glamour and soon our scandalous photographs were lost to the village’s new obsession—film-stars! The fair held far more interest than our boring old pictures and the gossip died down completely. So, as the season of autumn rolled along, the less and less we were talked about. It proved a great relief to us and soon the strange glances were replaced with the usual nods and ‘good mornings’ and invitations to dinner. It was like the photographs had never existed.

Winter came upon us with ferocity. It felt as though autumn raced passed us and we couldn’t quite catch up as the icy grip of December took hold. Christmas fast approached and we were ready and prepared for our guests. Well, we thought we were.

Sophia was the only one of the four of us who still had parents and so we knew how important it was to stay in touch and be around family over the festive period. She was close to her mother and father and so she was particularly nervous of how she was to be seen in her new role as wife and mistress of the great manor but she was less concerned than I was about how her parents perceived us as a group. For the first few days of their stay she was reasonably calm whilst I panicked profusely that her family would discover us hopping in and out of each other’s bedrooms or spy us adjusting clothing after a quick smooch and fondle with the one we weren’t married to. The others reassured me. The parents didn’t know of the secret tunnel allowing us access to each bedroom, and they also assured me that we were clever and discreet enough not to be caught in disarray.

“What if there was a fire?” I blurted out on that earliest day, “They’d catch us out most definitely.”

If there was a fire, the last thing we’d really worry about was whether someone saw me briefly standing in the bedroom with George. Was it just me? Was I forever bound to be anxious over the threat of exposure? 

My anxiety, like a virus, spread to the others and we found ourselves on tenterhooks for days, even on Christmas Day itself, wondering if we’d said the wrong thing or not treated our guests with enough consideration. Meg and Sophia were fine hosts, making sure the parents were entertained and looked after, and George, well George didn’t want anyone there at all and the fact he stayed and didn’t escape to his London flat showed a great deal of character. Overall however, though we were doing a considerably admirable job, we were beginning to crack under the strain.

…

Cousin Meg was the second of us to fall foul to our emotions during the parents’ visit and on the day after the George business with his clothes off, she had taken to riding her horse after Sophia’s mother had been rather insensitive about her frumpy clothes which were very much on.

“At least Jupiter understands me.” I heard her say as she ran out of the door carrying her helmet and riding crop.

Jupiter was Meg’s horse. My own was named Saturn but I seldom rode him in the recent years. We were so fond of those animals especially George who had become rather attached to Saturn and had taken to a daily trot around the grounds. Horses, as well as photography, was another interest that he and Meg had in common— that and not giving a damn to what anyone else thought.

Although Meg had an equal talent for riding and not giving a damn, she was terrible at concentrating while she was emotional and so it was not without coincidence that I later heard a scream from George telling me an accident had occurred.

“It’s Meg,” George spluttered, having hobbled all the way from the grounds, “she’s fallen off Jupiter!” He paused for a moment, laughing at his inadvertent turn of phrase.

“Good God, is she alright?” Sophia’s father asked.

We all crowded around the breathless George.

“Well, is she alright?” Sophia asked.

“Wait a minute,” George sniped. “Don’t panic all, she’s not dead. She’s moving but not enough that she can drag herself to the house. I need help to carry her here. She’s quite heavy.”

Oh George! I didn’t think he meant it that way but he really should’ve been careful.

The usually calm Sophia was now frantic. “My poor darling!” She turned to look at her parents and I could see they’d thought nothing of her referring to Meg as ‘darling,’ after all, women were very close and it was not uncommon to hear such a phrase between friends.

With fierce determination then, we left the house— George, Sophia, two parents and myself followed by a butler, a stable-boy, and a gardener. When we found Meg, she was in a rather undignified position on the grass, legs sprawled about, mud in her face and in her hair.

“I say, what a terrible sight!” Mr. Emberley-Phillips said.

“Is it awfully painful?” His wife said, glancing down at Meg as if she were a tortoise which had capsized.

“I suspect her pride has taken the worst bruising,” George said, with a chuckle.

I nudged him. Sophia’s parents were watching, studying us. We were supposed to be convincing married couples but how could that come across when George was laughing at his wife falling off a horse?

“I’m alright to walk,” Meg said as myself and Billy the handsome stable-boy helped her to her feet. “I think I may have sprained my wrist though.”

She linked her arm with Sophia who insisted they go to the house and send for the doctor immediately. Typical Meg to injure herself during the dreaded family visit and leave me with the monster-in-laws!

….

With our maid Eleanor in-and-out of Meg’s bedroom, carrying cups of tea, and tending to her needs, it was left to the other three of us to ‘tend’ to Sophia’s mother and father.

A small part of me had a horrible suspicion that Meg was milking her injury for some peace and who could blame her? Sophia’s mother was critical and Meg was on the constant receiving end. It appeared that Margaret Wynter was far too shabby to compare with their perfect princess Mrs. Sophia Wells.

So that freezing afternoon whilst Meg recuperated upstairs, we decided to venture into town and stop for tea in a country hotel. At the table, I instinctively began to pull out George’s chair for him and then remembered present company so I pulled out Sophia’s chair instead. George unfortunately at that moment tried to sit on a chair that wasn’t there and collapsed to the floor in a heap.

Luckily for everyone, George was a master of making a clumsy fall look like pure entertainment and he laughed and bowed as the diners cheered and whopped.

“The blasted war eh?” George quipped to everyone, waving his walking stick in the air. “Not such a great war was it?”

We sat down quietly and the first question started.

“How’s the vicar doing, is he feeling better?” Mrs. Emberley-Phillips asked. Why she felt the need to bring up the vicar’s recent bout of ill health during every awkward pause I’ll never know.

And the conversation went on like that, inane small-talk about vicars and churches whilst George and I tried to appear interested and Sophia, poor dearest Sophia, looked as though she was about to explode at the monotony of the conversation.

A moment later that pretty much happened though for other reasons entirely.

Mrs. Emberley-Phillips glanced at her reflection in a spoon and said: “It’s probably for the best that Meg can’t join us. Her outfit would hardly be appropriate for such a family-led establishment.” 

Sophia emitted the strangest noise and I’ll admit it terrified me to the core. It was not like the amusing time George had passed wind during the symphony insisting it was the sound of the trumpet, no this was horrifying. I’d heard Bartholomew cry like that but never my wife. In fact, although I’m sure she must’ve cried since we married, I’m certain it was never in front of me and certain it was never so loud or in public.

“Sophia, you silly old sausage, whatever’s the matter?” I said, rubbing her arm, wondering what I was supposed to do when a wife burst into tears of a ferocious and unrelenting nature in public.

She attempted to stifle her sobs, aware we were being watched, but it proved futile.

“Daughter, there’s no time for tears,” her father said.

“I will cry if I want to!” She slammed her fist hard onto the table sending a teaspoon into the air before it dropped down onto her saucer with a clatter. Her father clearly had never been spoken to like that by his daughter and his eyebrows were so high upon his head, I thought they’d fly off at any moment.

I placed my arm around her and stroked her hand gently, attempting to soothe her.

“I want to go home,” she said. “I want to see Meg.”

All over the Christmas week, Sophia had shown more concern for Meg than for her husband. I understood it but it feared me, for I swore I could sense an aura of suspicion in the air. The more Sophia cried, the more she made it clear Meg was dearer to her than I was. The more George played the fool or accidentally forgot to wear clothes, the more I panicked we were about to be exposed. Was I the only one I could rely on not to fall apart before New Year’s Eve? Could we enter the new year with the knowledge we’d not made all our secrets and eccentricities known to everyone?

…

New Year’s Eve approached and I was becoming paranoid, and to make it worse, George wouldn’t visit Meg on her fake sick bed, Sophia would barely speak to her parents and the atmosphere in the manor was as frosty as during the servants’ revolt.

When New Year’s Eve finally arrived, Meg felt ready to venture downstairs and as we gathered for supper that evening there was more of that frosty silence we dreaded. We first ate the sumptuous meal cooked by Mrs. Warman with barely a word shared and then by the main course we realised one of us would have to speak. It was Mrs. Emberley-Phillips who did.

She looked at the empty table. “We usually invite other guests around on New Year’s Eve.”

“You are our guests,” Sophia said, sighing.

In the week or so since they’ve been at the manor, Sophia had changed from the ever-pleasant helpful daughter to the moody stepchild who rolled her eyes to the heavens whenever they spoke.

“We used to have a fine soiree; didn’t we Rose?” Mr. Emberley-Phillips said, gulping down his wine.

I did the same, gulped down my wine which was now my third glass at only half-past eight and I was ready to consume anything the cellar held. And if you had been at the most awkward New Year’s Eve dinner party than you’d quite understand my need for the alcohol.

“I’d rather it was quiet,” George said, nibbling on a lettuce leaf like a pet rabbit.

“Oh, well, you do seem rather a shy little creature, don’t you?” Mrs. Emberley-Phillips said with a patronising chuckle.

“He’s not shy, he simply appreciates life’s silences,” Meg replied.

Meg defending George! I’d heard everything!

“Why don’t we play some games?” I suggested after dinner. 

Why did I say that? Who on earth wanted to play games? My three dear ones looked at me like they wanted to kill me but Sophia’s parents, as judgemental as they were, were also very keen on livening things up with party games. But after the events of our last big party in which hide-and-seek resulted in a stolen tiara, I knew I needed another drink and so I drank another glass and another until nothing felt terrible anymore.

“What shall we play then?” Mrs. Emberley-Phillips said after a succession of suggestions.

We all glanced at one another and there was also a succession of shrugs.

“Ooh I know, how about charades?” she said.

And that’s what we played on New Year’s Eve— Charades— which really was quite apt considering how much of a charade our lives had become since Sophia’s parents had been with us. They were our first guests to stay since the weddings (who’d been with us for more than a weekend) and how much harder it became to maintain the charade as the days wore on.

For this game of charades, it was Mr. and Mrs. Emberley-Phillips on one team, Meg and Sophia on another and George and myself on the third. 

“Always on the same team, aren’t you boys?” Sophia’s father noted to which my face reddened and I swiftly drank more wine. 

With heaps of passion, Mrs. Emberley-Phillips started first and mimed her book title with more spectacle and colour than a variety show at the London Hippodrome. Her husband appeared to either have lost his sight or never read a book in his life as he missed every obvious hint that she was miming the very well-known Little Women.

With a nudge from her excited mother, Sophia was next to mime and within moments of beginning the charade, Meg had already guessed it was A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The two of them seemed to have a deep connection and must have known just what the other was thinking because honestly, we’d played this game before and Sophia was not that good at charades!

By the time our turn came around, George was adamant he didn’t want to stand in front of everyone and so I reluctantly agreed to do it. I already had far too many glasses of wine inside of me so I felt quite confident that my nerves would hold. I couldn’t lose a simple game of charades. How would that look in front of the in-laws? I was lord of the manor, man of the house and so I stood proudly, holding my lapels in the ridiculous belief it made me look more regal. It didn’t. I immediately grabbed my glass of wine, holding onto it for comfort and support, using it as my crutch for the evening the way George used his stick.

Mr. Emberley-Phillips handed me a piece of paper with my charade written upon it and as I stared at the words they began to blur. It read: An Ideal Husband by Oscar Wilde, but the writing was making me feel giddy so I tossed it to the floor.

Why was it that when under pressure I suddenly found my mind going blank? My legs felt a little weak, my focus distant and hazy and I remember the room spinning like a whirlpool about to swallow me whole, swirling and swirling like a never-ending vortex. The voices in the room were echoing and I swore I could see two of Fettis as he brought me another bottle of wine. He also appeared to be holding onto the corkscrew for dear life and I practically had to wrestle him to take hold of it. 

An Ideal Husband? How would I mime it? I did all the necessary hand gestures to show it was a play that had three words with a small word at the beginning. Then I tried to suggest that the second word was a rhyme for ‘wheel’ but of course I still had to simulate the action of said wheel. So, there I was, pretending I was in a car and pointing very dramatically at an imaginary wheel at the front, moving my hands in a circular motion and making myself feel even more dizzy in the process. 

“Wheel?” George said half-heartedly and then tried to guess some rhymes with little enthusiasm. “Feel. Meal. Deal. Heal.” He must have listed every word except the right one.

I sighed and pointed at Sophia. “Third word,” I said and then pointed at her again for emphasis.

“Woman,” he replied.

“Yes, but not her, but…” I then pointed at myself and felt more light-headedness.

“No talking!” Meg shouted. My cousin took the rules very seriously.

“Ssh.” I pointed at Sophia for the third time and then doubly at my own body.

“Man,” George replied, sighing, barely looking at me but resting his chin in his hands.

“No.” I did the same hand movement three times, each time with more gesture.

“Male. Man. Person. Gent. Chap. Idiot. Cretin. Drunk.”

“Don’t be ridiclucomous,” I said, slurring and unable to pronounce my words. “Sophia is my what and I am her what?”

“Pet dog,” I heard him mutter quietly.

My words began to slur even more. “Sophia is my…wife…and I’m his husband…or he’s my wife…what was I trying to say?”

“Nothing of sense apparently,” Meg added.

“Oh, for goodness sakes!” I shouted, sending the liquid from my glass onto the floor. “Not a braincell between you. It’s so easy, George, you’re even the biggest fan of old Oscar Wilde.”

“What was it then?”

“An Ideal Husband, obviously,” I said, trying to drink from a glass that was now empty. “But I suppose in my case, I’m not an ideal one.” I hiccupped grotesquely. 

I should add here that no-one interrupted me during my next speech and it is with deep mortification that I shall share this part of my story. 

“I’m the most un-ideal husband. If there was a contest for an ideal husband, I would come last. It’s hard being an ideal husband when you can’t give your wife things and she can’t give you certain things and you’re not sure you want to because you give other things to someone else who likes those things. But of course, they’re not the right kind of person that you should be liking these things from and if people found about those things then my delicate things would end up in a vice!”

By the time I’d finished ranting, I was out of breath and the room was deathly silent. Meg, Sophia, and George stared open-mouthed like three confused goldfish. 

Mr. Emberley-Phillips shook his head. “Dear God, man, what on earth are you blithering about? Is this some performance from the pages of an Oscar Wilde play because I confess, I do not recognise it?”

I slumped onto my chair. “Quite possibly.”

Before I had the chance to dwell on my ‘performance’, Sophia made that high-pitched cry again and hurried from the room, tears falling down her cheeks. Meg followed after her. George on the other hand, sat in his armchair, looking at the curled-up Bartholomew on the floor. He averted his eyes. He was ashamed.

If I’d embarrassed George of all people then I must have been insufferable!

“I think you’ve had too much to drink, Tobias,” Sophia’s mother said, stating the obvious as usual. “Do you think I ought to check on Sophia?”

…

I don’t remember much about the hours that followed until I felt my head being dunked under freezing cold water and saw the blurred faces of George and Meg looking down upon me from above. When my eyes focused and I’d spat out the water from my mouth, I realised I was on the grounds of the manor and my two dearest loved ones had my head in the pond! It was winter, it was so cold, it was a dark and dreary night and I was soaked. I felt my body shaking.

“What are you doing?” I spluttered as George placed his dinner jacket around my freezing body.

“Sobering you up, you fool,” Meg said as she let go of my face. “You couldn’t string a sentence together. Are you alright now, how many fingers am I holding up?”

I could see she was holding up two so I told her so and then, satisfied I was no longer quite so inebriated, they helped me to my feet.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “where’s Sophia?”

“Upstairs. I think you owe her an apology,” said Meg.

…

After I dried myself off, I found Sophia sitting at her dressing table, placing some curlers into her hair as she sat at her stool, glancing forlornly into the mirror. I touched her arm lightly.

“My dear, can we talk?”

She didn’t reply but allowed me to lead her to the bed where she sat down beside me. I looked into her eyes and took her hand. I still felt incredibly dizzy and sick.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say all that in front of your parents.”

“Toby, it’s alright.”

“No, it’s not alright, I can tell you’re upset.”

“It’s not because of you, not really. You don’t have to keep trying to be perfect, Toby. I never wanted you to be an ideal husband, I simply want you to be happy. You’re not perfect, none of us are. You’re human.”

I bowed my head. She had no idea how much that meant to me.

“But I must excuse my behaviour.”

“We’ve all said things we didn’t mean. I spoke with mama and I’m not sure she or papa realised what was going on.”

“So, things are alright?”

“Toby, it’s about time we had an argument isn’t it? We wouldn’t be the normal couple you want us to be if we didn’t fight.”

I smiled and rested my head on her shoulder. “You’re right of course. See, it’s impossible to argue with you when you’re so wise.”

“Toby!”

There was a light tap at the door and it opened to reveal George and Meg standing in the doorway.

“Is everything alright, we were a bit worried?” Meg said as she and George made their way inside and sat down on the other end of the bed, making themselves comfortable amongst the pillows.

“We’re fine,” Sophia replied, “where are Mama and Papa?”

“Sound asleep one should think. They mentioned being far too tired to see the new year in,” George added. “Old age, bit of a curse isn’t it? Mind you, I’m not far behind them!”

I looked at my pocket-watch. “Well, two minutes to go. Not the best evening we could’ve asked for thanks to me.”

George shuffled closer to me and took my hand. “It’s the four of us now, isn’t this the way we wanted it?”

“It’s been an eventful year hasn’t it?” Sophia said as she switched places with George until she was snuggled up next to Meg. “What do you think 1926 will bring?”

“More Toby panicking that we’ll be thrown in prison?” Meg said with a chuckle.

I turned back to look at her and stuck my tongue out. “More of Meg’s photographs!”

“Less of George’s clothes!” Meg said.

“Hopefully more fun,” Sophia said. “Being with each other and not caring what others think.”

“Less family visits,” George added.

I was about to reply when I noticed there were only seconds to go until new year arrived. We counted down together until it was finally 1926. We whooped and cheered and kissed our loves. We then kissed everyone else. I even kissed Bartholomew as he jumped on the bed as if he knew the new year had arrived. 

“To the future!” I said, glad I had no glass, and swearing I would never get so drunk again.

…

The bitterness of the winter air mirrored the bitterness in my heart of having to pretend I was an ideal husband. Sophia had made it clear that she didn’t expect me to be perfect but still, whenever I was in the company of her mother and father, I felt the strong urge to play the part of doting husband with every fibre of my being.

The first few days of January passed without much consequence and thankfully on the 7th day of the new year of 1926, Sophia’s parents were leaving us. Their suitcases were packed, Fettis had taken the luggage to the car and there they stood, saying goodbye to their daughter with love and affection. It was clear they were devoted to her. Why had I not seen it before?

“We’ve had a splendid time,” Mrs. Emberley-Phillips said as she kissed her daughter’s cheek and then made her way to Meg.

“Thank you for your kind hospitality, Margaret. I so appreciate your friendship with my daughter.”

They next told George how good a host he’d been and how thoroughly entertaining he was to which I think it caused him some bewilderment. Finally, they stood in front of me, their faces alight with smiles.

“Always a pleasure, Tobias,” my mother-in-law said, kissing my cheek gently.

Mr. Emberley-Phillips shook my hand. “Indeed. We’ve had a fine Christmas and New Year.”

“I’m glad. I’m just sorry it didn’t all quite…well…you know…”

He slapped my shoulder heartily. “Oh, who hasn’t been a little bit squiffy at a do? As long as we keep it in the family eh? A few nonsensical outbursts during the Christmas season are to be expected.”

I felt the relief wash over me. I was still mortified but Sophia’s parents were none-the-wiser that our living arrangements were anything more than we claimed them to be. Here I had been accusing everyone of being judgemental when it was I who had been the most judgmental of all. Yes, Sophia’s parents had their ways to push our buttons; little annoyances that made us want to drink, or swear or run for the hills but they were not cruel people and they had our best interests at heart. I had judged them, accused them of being suspicious and I had been wrong. Ever the paranoid Toby! But they had not looked for anything suspicious because they had no reason to. It was all in my head.

I had judged my dear ones too. I had assumed their eccentricities would get us all into trouble when in reality it was my faux pas that could’ve caused a disaster. Would I ever feel entirely comfortable living as we did? I was always comfortable in my nature, that the life I had with George meant everything and was true, real and right, but the secret life was always going to haunt me, like a killer waiting for the noose around the neck, or the adulterer waiting for the blackmail letter in the post. True, I was a good person who didn’t do anything wrong, but to the world I was viewed as incorrect. I didn’t fit. I didn’t think I would ever escape the feeling of that imaginary noose tightening and tightening until one day it would choke me.

…

“Are you alright, Sir?” Billy the stable-boy asked me the next morning as I stood in the stables, staring vacantly ahead of me, contemplating the meaning of life or something. I hadn’t even noticed I was standing in a pile of horse manure.

“Can I help you with anything? Did you want to ride?” He was looking at my feet for some bizarre reason that I had not worked out.

“No, that’s alright. I’m waiting for George and Meg. They really do love those horses.”

He shovelled some hay and then looked at me. “It’ll be alright you know, Sir?”

“It will?”

“Yeah. Life I mean, it’ll be alright. It’s not easy being different is it?”

I looked at him but he gave away little in his expression. “Are you different, Billy?”

“Now that would be telling!”

“Ah yes, but do you think I’m an ideal husband?”

“Don’t know, aint married to ya!” He laughed. “But really it don’t matter, Sir, as long as you’re there for those you love then that’s all that counts.”

“You’re very wise for a stable boy.”

“Don’t underestimate us, Sir. One day we’ll be equal to your lot! We’ll all be equal.”

I smiled. “You know what, Billy, I hope you’re right. And perhaps we’d all be the better for it.”


	6. 'Til Death Do Us Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A morbid mood descends over the manor when someone in the village dies. And ghosts from the past have Toby thinking of the future.

The day of the funeral was a dreary, rainy day in January. Black skies loomed gloomily overhead as a sea of people in black clothing gathered outside the church. Under the earth of the graveyard lay the departed souls of history, interred, resting peacefully for eternity…well hopefully anyway. One didn’t wish to think of them resting quite unpeacefully down there with us all walking above them without a single care for their peace.

I suppose you’re wondering who’d shuffled off this mortal coil and I’m glad to inform you that it was not one of us, or anybody at the manor and thankfully not a relative or close friend. No, ironically the latest to die in our village was the one who performed many of the funeral services— the vicar himself—the honourable Reverend Silk. He had been suffering a bout of ill-health for weeks which one would’ve suspected of killing him except it wasn’t and it was a very unsuspecting incident of him falling out of a tree that did it. Nothing at all to do with the nasty chest infection he’d been suffering.

“I heard he was up there rescuing a cat,” Sophia said to George as she linked her arm through his as we all walked toward the church doors together.

“I don’t believe it. He didn’t look like a cat person,” he replied.

“Need he be a cat person to not want it to fall out of a tree?” I said from behind him, walking arm in arm with Meg.

“Well I heard it was bird-watching,” Meg added.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” George said quietly. “He always enjoyed spying on things from that tree. Probably saw a couple of tits he admired…blue ones maybe.”

“But how did he fall out?” Meg asked.

“Branch gave way, he was not as trim as he used to be,” a voice said to which we turned to see the local barmaid— the rather lively Miss. Schofield— walking behind, smiling at us. “He always came in the pub for a snifter and showed me all these pictures of his birds. If I’d have known it was gonna be the last time, I’d have paid more attention to the old sod, maybe shown him my own tits.”

We all stared at her, unsure of the implication.

“My Dad has an aviary! Well, better go, my Dan will be wondering where I’ve got to. Always going on at me for chatting.” Miss Schofield was still talking as she left us and made her way to her husband’s side. 

Turning back to resume our walk, George sighed. “What a way to go though, staring at a couple of tits and then…thud.”

I couldn’t help but giggle. “Well it won’t be how you go, that’s for sure,” I whispered, glad in the knowledge the bubbly barmaid hadn’t heard because otherwise it would have been all around the village by tea time.

Sophia put her finger to her lips and hushed us like we were schoolchildren. “We shouldn’t laugh. A man has died. Our own vicar. We should be respectfully po-faced.”

I mimed buttoning up my lip and then we proceeded to walk silently into the large ornate church doors, silenced by our sensible Sophia for the remainder of the stroll. 

“Hold on,” George whispered, breaking the silence, “if our vicar’s up there at the pearly gates then who’s conducting the service?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” I said.

And I hadn’t. I had spent the whole week instead thinking about Reverend Silk’s unusual demise and not of what that entailed. One shouldn’t be so morbidly curious but one always is. We can’t get enough of being morbid and even more so when there’s something mysterious or unusual about the way a person died. He didn’t die in the war or of some mundane illness but a random freak accident. What are the odds? But on the other hand, his last moments were happy as he climbed into a tree like a schoolboy to follow a passion, to get away from it all and be with nature. It had to be admired. 

It did raise the question however of who was to perform the service and to be our new vicar. Was a vicar elected like a member of parliament or did I have to help find one? Charlie never explained this situation to me. His death hadn’t been unusual and it certainly hadn’t been as funny as falling out of a tree but it had been a shock and I was not prepared for the grief or for the challenge of what came after. I’d been naïve, thought he’d be with me forever. I had reasoned I’d never need to know so much about the place I lived. I’d had visions of spending my days frolicking in the south of France!

Breaking from my daydream, we found ourselves by the back of the church and settled onto the pew, where with a loud clatter, George’s stick fell to the floor and the noise echoed around us.

“He’s a lot younger than old Silky,” Meg whispered as the new vicar came into view at the front of the church. “He’s quite handsome too.”

I looked up and first noticed the redness of his hair and the blue of his eyes. Even from far away they were intense. And the red moustache! Oh god! I gasped! I knew that man! He wasn’t simply our new vicar; he was my old lover! That moustache was the giveaway. I remembered it tickling me on several occasions whilst we were locked in a passionate kiss. Albert Crump, Crumpy, my old flame. Since when had he become a member of the clergy?

“Are you alright, Toby?” Sophia asked.

“Yes, I must be upset about the old vicar.” I lied.

Albert Crump stood at the altar and smiled widely to the congregation. When he began to talk, I was reminded of the way he spoke— soft and pleasant with a slight lisp.

“I feel I must introduce myself before we begin this service. I am not only here for today but I hope to be welcomed as your new vicar and become well acquainted with you all soon. I only wish we were meeting under more pleasurable circumstances.”

We had definitely met under more pleasurable circumstances!

“My name is Reverend Crump,” he continued, “Albert. I began my post today and I’m very honoured to be part of this community. Shall we begin the service?”

I heard nothing of the service and I didn’t remember saying any prayers because all I could think about was the summer of 1920, before George and I rekindled, before Sophia arrived, before all the responsibility— when I was a care-free bachelor with a whole world to discover. Albert and I had met in London at the Criterion, when his lipstick was a red as his hair. We had begun chatting at the club which led me to Albert’s digs in the north of the city. He invited me for a drink, there was a small spark between us and I thought little of the invitation until his hand was upon my knee and then on other places and on and on from there. It was three weeks of bliss. Three weeks of doing what we wanted. Then sadly it ended as quickly as it had begun. He was getting married, beginning a new career and I was his last foray into the fun side of things before the ‘normal life’ followed, before he became someone else. I had no idea this ‘career’ was to devote himself to God.

As I awoke from yet another daydream, my wife was prodding me, telling me we needed to get to the churchyard for the burial of poor old Silk and lay him to rest. My legs felt weak and I wondered if somehow everyone knew that I was looking at Albert, reminiscing about those passionate and illicit encounters. 

“Toby, get a move on,” Meg said as we all shuffled out of the pew and walked outside.

George opened his umbrella and held it over me in the pouring rain. “Are you alright, Toby, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost? Not the vicar is it?”

“Not unless you count a ghost from the past.”

“I don’t follow.”

“It’s that new vicar. I know him.” 

I fell silent and hid my face as Albert passed us.

George at this moment watched him and I heard a slight gasp. “Good lord, it’s Crumpet!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I know him too. Crump, Albert Crump.”

“You mean you’ve only just realised? The man said his full name in there and he was standing at the altar, clear as day for you to see.”

“I have terrible long-distance sight. And I thought he said he was called Trump. I say, how funny that we both know the new vicar.”

“Yes, but how do you know him?”

He looked at me with suspicion. “How do you know him?”

I could barely say the words as George looked at me. I’d never told anyone before. I began to stutter like when I was a child, before it was beaten out of me at school.

“You were lovers!” He gasped.

I gasped next. “And you were too!”

He nodded. “So, it seems a bed is not the only thing we share. I suppose this was bound to happen one day.”

“Could you keep your voice down, you’ll expose us all!”

I could see the aggravated faces of our ladies who were wondering why we’d strayed behind and not joined the main group by the grave side. We moved to join them and agreed between us not to speak of it further until we reached the safety of our own home. This was a man’s funeral and one must pay their respects. Ashes to Ashes, dust to dust and all that.

After the burial which seemed to last for eternity, everyone stood in a line waiting to shake hands with the new vicar. Sophia and Meg made introductions first and they seemed to get along with him as they chatted about flowers, the village, and other parishioners. I laughed to myself at the sight of Sophia, waving her arms about again. No matter how much she was taught not to over-gesture, she always did. 

George and I waited patiently. We were the last in line and very reluctant for him to notice us. Unsurprisingly Albert’s mouth dropped open.

“My God! Pardon the expression. Toby Wells and George Wynter, here together in my new church! Well I’ll be damned! Pardon the expression.”

He shook our hands and looked us over discreetly, running a trembling hand through his red hair.

“You all know each other?” Meg asked.

“Acquaintances,” I said quickly and took a careful glance at Albert. “We’re married…I mean Sophia and I are married. George is married to Meg. We’re not married to each other; I mean that would be…are you married?”

He laughed shyly. “Yes, as you’ll recall, I was about to marry the last time we saw each other. My wife Gwen will be joining me at the weekend with the children. So, you’re married, Toby? Congratulations! I must say though, George, your news surprises me more so.”

“Does it?” George replied.

“If I recall you didn’t even like being in the same room as a woman. There was even a rhyme about you. The alternate Georgie Porgy one, do you remember it?”

George’s cheeks flushed and he whispered. “Yes, it’s ingrained on the soul. ‘Georgie Porgy from Sussex and Rye, kissed the boys and made them cry. When the girls came out to play, Georgie porgy ran away!’”

I chuckled. “Oh George, even then you were afraid of women?”

“Now, now,” George began, “the fairer sex has some fine attributes.” He glanced at Meg. “Except being quiet of course.”

As Meg nudged her husband, Albert ran his hand through his thick hair for a second time. “I can’t believe you’re here in this very village. I’m stumped. How do you two know each other anyway?”

“We met in the war,” I replied.

“He was beneath me,” George added, not realising or caring in the slightest how it sounded.

Albert smirked. “Was he indeed?”

The moments that followed were pure awkwardness and it felt like hours had passed as each of us waited for an inevitable end to the conversation. In fact, if it had become any more awkward then I believe I would have climbed down, greeted poor old Silk and let the ground swallow me. Eventually Albert said his farewells and we were able to slip away to get the manor ready for the wake.

Reverend Silk had no living relatives so as owner of the closest estate, I took the plunge and volunteered to play host. Granted most of the actual work was done by the servants, but all the exhausting social pleasantries were on our shoulders. I had memorised a few anecdotes about the vicar but as my mind thought about the newer vicar, I no longer could even remember the old one.

After the events of New Year’s Eve, Sophia had wisely banned me from drinking more than two glasses of wine at parties and was to watch me like a hawk the entire time but before all that, she and Meg took George and I aside in the freezing cold conservatory to, I imagined, no doubt scold us for something. True enough, there our wives stood, arms folded, waiting for explanations.

“No secrets remember,” Sophia said.

“But hold the details,” Meg added. “What is going on with you two and that new vicar? You didn’t all you know…together…did you?”

“Meg!” Sophia gasped. “I may be unconventional in some ways but I’m still traditional and that is not something we should discuss.”

I grabbed both the ladies’ arms softly. “No, it’s nothing of that sort.”

“Besides, the opportunity never arose. We never knew him at the same time. I met old Crumpet at Cambridge,” said George.

“And I didn’t meet him until after the war.”

“So, a coincidence?” Meg said. “Sophia, perhaps later we should make a list of any old flames in case this ever happens to us.”

“No, Meg, this is only the sort of thing that ever happens to our husbands. And besides, my list is very short.”

“You make us sound sordid. I was a carefree bachelor not a married man. He was, granted, about to enter the church and marry a woman but I didn’t know all that,” I said.

“And I was with him at university, how was I to know he’d end up sleeping with my future lover after the war?”

I placed my hand over George’s mouth. This subject was not to be overheard. Above our whispers I could hear the booming voice of Lady Hendon as Fettis announced her and the other mourners into the hall.

“Showtime,” George muttered.

“Have we hidden the valuables?” Sophia asked as we peered out of the door into the main hall, looking at Lady Hendon as she eyed up the priceless Art Deco vase on the stand by the front door.

“Not all of it,” I replied grimly.

…

That night I attempted to sleep but my mind was pre-occupied with thoughts of death, love, passion, the future, the manor, and everything else in-between. My mind raced like a horse at the Derby. Finally, I turned on the bedside lamp and sat up, resting the pillows behind my neck.

George’s eyes narrowed in the light. “Are you alright, my dear?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“That was obvious from the tossing and turning. Bartholomew was so annoyed with it, he darted through the secret tunnel.”

“How on earth did he open it?”

“He jumped on the right book, Scarlet Letter. He’s a very clever cat, Toby, don’t underestimate him.” George sat up and snuggled closer to me. “Well, what is it bothering you this time? Is it Crumpet?”

“Sort of. Oh, I don’t think it’s really him.”

“Not in love with him, are you?”

“Of course not, never was. You’re not, are you?”

He smiled. “I’ve only ever been in love with one human and he happens to be here now. Crumpet was my first, that’s all.”

“He was your first?”

“Yes. Well, I’d kissed boys at school, you know how it is, but Cambridge was a whole different story. Crumpet and I didn’t have much trouble being together there. We even had an entourage of like-minded followers. Had our own boat. The younger boys like us used to row us down the river like we were gods.”

“You know George, one day we’re going to have a long talk about this. There’s far too much about your life I don’t know.”

“Are you sure you can handle it?”

I was about to reply when there was a sudden piercing scream.

“It’s the girls,” I cried, leaping out of bed. “An intruder! A murderer!”

“Don’t overreact,” George said, only moving when I prodded him several times. “Oh alright, let’s go and see.”

Instead of walking to their room, we crawled in the secret tunnel and announced when we arrived at the girls’ room on the other side.

“Ladies, everything alright?” I whispered. 

Meg called us in and when we got to our feet we saw that she was sitting on the bed in her nightdress with her arms around Sophia, wrapped in their blanket.

“What’s the matter, dearest?” I asked Sophia.

“She’s had a nightmare of a frightening kind,” Meg informed us. 

“Is there another sort?” George asked. “What was it, big monster chasing you? Evil axe murderer?”

Sophia rested her head upon Meg’s lap and let her stroke her hair tenderly. 

“No, nothing like that. It was about death. It’s skeletal fingers reached out and took you all from me and left me all alone.”

“Hope that’s not an omen,” George said, sitting down upon the armchair and allowing Bartholomew onto his lap. 

I sat next to Sophia on the bed. “Dreams can be frightening but it’s only your imagination.”

“I don’t think it’s going to come true as such,” Sophia began, “It simply got me thinking. I’m the youngest and one day I may be here all alone. “

“I don’t know about that. The cantankerous ones always outlive everyone else,” Meg added.

In that moment we all turned to look at George who was oblivious to the insult.

Sophia sighed. “We must think about these things as hard as they may be.”

She seemed so serious then, so intent on talking about our futures when all I wanted to do was bury my head in the sand and pretend nothing existed past next Friday. I couldn’t bear to think of a life without my three special people but she was right in its importance. I had been confident I’d have my brother Charlie around for at least thirty more years, thought the two of us would grow old together, thought he would run the estate whilst I spent time in the south of France doing whatever I wanted. Fate or destiny or whatever you want to call it, had other plans.

I stroked Sophia’s hand. “Yes, don’t worry, we’ll figure this all out, sort out all our affairs.”

“I’m going first no matter what,” George said, “I’m the oldest. I’m also the most disposable.”

“George!” All three of us said in synchronization.

“Now, now, it’s alright, I’m not offended. Some people love me and some people hate me and I’m alright with that.” He placed his cat onto the chair and then sat at the dressing table, glancing at his reflection for a few moments. “It really doesn’t bother me that I’m the least loved in this set-up.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” I asked.

“It’s quite true. I know you love me, Toby, but I’m under no illusions that Sophia and Meg have feelings for me, at least not to the intensity that they feel for you.”

Sophia’s eyes began to water. “Nonsense, George. I may not love you in the same way but don’t assume a lack of affection. And Meg adores you!”

“Do I?” Meg turned to Sophia.

“Do you?” George turned to Meg.

There was no reply and, in the awkwardness, George placed Sophia’s rose-cut diamond tiara onto his head. “The point I gather still stands but I’m alright with it.” He pouted as he looked in the mirror. “Gosh I look pretty.”

“Maybe Sophia’s right,” I said. “I don’t wish to talk about such horrid things. It frightens me something chronic but I do have a Will of sorts, composed it when father and Charlie died. I’ll need to update it then I know you’ll all be taken care of if I go first. George do you have your affairs in order?”

He shrugged. “Not yet. I’m not very organised.” He took a sheet of Sophia’s notepaper and a pen and began to write. 

Sophia smiled as she felt comfort from Meg’s sudden touch. “Oh George, we didn’t mean now.”

“No, it’s important. I shall give you a taster of what I have in mind.”

I got up and looked over his shoulder as he wrote in his beautiful joined-up handwriting. 

“You’ve put Bartholomew before you’ve mentioned me. “

“I just thought of him first.”

Meg laughed. “Oh really, George, your cat will be long dead before any of us!”

“Bartholomew III maybe but it could be number five or six. And Bartholomew whatever number needs to be provided for.”

I read more of the writing. “I don’t think it’ll look right if you leave everything to me rather than your wife, George.”

“You’ve left me nothing?” Meg cried.

“Not exactly, my dear. I assumed Toby would give you some of his when he pops off.”

Meg rose to her feet and with a scowl at her husband, she tore a piece of paper from the pad, snatched his pen and began scrawling onto it. “Fine.” She read aloud as she wrote. “Last Will and Testament of Margaret Ann Wynter. I hereby bequeath all my worldly goods to my close friend Sophia and my cousin Toby. The end.”

“Don’t be childish, you two,” Sophia said as there we all stood, around the dressing table in our night clothes. “I’m only suggesting we gradually put our affairs in order not do it all in one night.”

We all laughed. But looking at my tribe, I sighed. As difficult as our lives were, they were ours. I dreaded the day we parted. Yes, such was life but as with most things we became used to our ways, our routines, our dependency on one another. I was so content with my made-up family that the future without one or more of them was something I refused to imagine. I wanted to stop being morbid but that was very difficult when someone had recently died, we were suffering nightmares about the grim reaper, and had all descended into a reading the Last Wills and Testaments of the Wells’ and Wynters’.

…

Visiting the graveyard two days later probably didn’t help these matters. But Sophia’s talk had really started me thinking and so I was determined to settle matters once and for all and leave no gravestone unturned in what was to happen when we departed. During the war, surrounded by death in every direction, one put it to the back of one’s mind through fear of tempting fate but now here I was in my thirties, comfortably off, married, and in reasonably good health but with nothing but death on my mind.

George sighed as we arrived along the rocky path at the heart of the churchyard. “Why are we back here? You’re not trying to get up- close and personal with old Crumpet, are you?”

“Don’t be silly. Come along ladies.” I called to Sophia as she and Meg gossiped behind us.

When we reached the edge of the graveyard, I stuck out my hand, pointing to an empty plot. “Ta da!”

Sophia sighed. “My husband thinks that my bad nightmares about death will be solved by standing in a damp, scary graveyard.”

“No, you don’t understand. This is where we’ll be buried. I bought our graves!”

The three of them stared at me and then at each other. I clearly had made the wrong decision again.

“You purchased our graves without telling us?” Meg said.

“It was a surprise.”

“How romantic,” Sophia muttered with sarcasm.

“How romantic!” George replied, genuinely touched.

“You think it’s romantic?” Meg asked him.

“Why not? What’s not romantic about being asked to spend eternity with someone, besides now I don’t have to bother with all this myself.”

“And,” I continued, “this way we can have a large monument for all of us. I was thinking about it and it really upset me that I couldn’t be side by side with George, our names unable to be written together. And you two couldn’t either. But if we all went in as one family; well it makes sense.”

“Oh.” Sophia grabbed my hand. “That really is very thoughtful.”

I smiled. “And people will remember us for years to come or wonder about us in the far away future when they visit this spot and think of those strange people at the old manor. Maybe it’ll be a better time and they’ll understand why we did this. Maybe it’ll seem so silly to them.”

We all stood staring at the spot where one day we would lie together and a peculiar sensation passed over me. I honestly felt I was going to start crying with happiness, or with sadness, I didn’t know. But that’s what standing at your own grave does to you.

Suddenly George grabbed my sleeve. “I hope there’s room for Bartholomew.”

“Yes, there’ll be room.” And I grabbed him in return and we started to wrestle. 

“Boys!” Sophia said.

We ignored her and continued to rough-house until we had fallen to the floor and were rolling about on the muddy ground. 

“Don’t be so prim, Sophia,” Meg said, “come on, let’s climb the tree.”

“The one the vicar died in, are you quite mad?”

“Well technically he died out of it. Come on.”

Sophia reluctantly followed Meg and the last I saw of them was with their dresses and coats hitched up, disappearing under the skeletal winter branches of an almighty tree which did little to disguise them.

“Get off me!” George said to me, his face inches from my own.

I was about to reply when I heard a cough and as I rolled off George, I could see Albert Crump standing above with one eyebrow raised. “Having fun, gentleman? I should probably warn you that this area isn’t as secluded as you think.”

I jumped to my feet. “Albert…I mean Reverend, we were just looking at the spot of our graves. I was surprising George and the ladies.”

He ran his hand through his hair yet again. “What a lovely surprise that must be, Toby.” He looked around but couldn’t see the aforementioned ladies. “Where are your delightful wives?”

“Yoo-hoo,” Meg called from the tree. 

“They’re up a tree?” Albert said, surprised as he saw two pairs of arms waving at him between the branches.

George finally stood up, shaking all the twigs and leaves from his coat. “Ah yes, they love all that. Girls will be girls, eh?”

“We don’t normally do this,” I added.

“Do what exactly?”

“Roll around on the ground. We were excited, you see.” I realised what I had implied. “No, I mean, the grave, excited about the future.”

“Looking forward to death?” Albert said. “Well heaven can be a wonderful place I’ve heard, but best to live on Earth first I think.”

I didn’t know why he should care about our behaviour anyway. I knew he had changed but I had once seen him in red lipstick and wearing ladies’ stockings. Why should he judge me? Had Albert Crump shunned everything from his former life? Time would tell.

…

Walking home seemed a good idea at first until the heavens opened as though God had summoned the rain as a punishment for our not quite so honourable behaviour in public. We took shelter in the nearby pub which all the local people frequented but to which we rarely ventured. The barmaid from the funeral welcomed us and led us to a table in the corner. 

“I’ll get you four beers,” she said without asking.

I always attempted to blend in with the common people as best as I could but I sensed the villagers were slightly uncomfortable with our presence. I spied Duckett and Billy the stable-boy laughing and joking at the bar. It was strange to see them out of their work clothes.

George gulped down his beer. “I say, this place has character and this beer is quite nice.”

We all looked to the front when we heard a clapping and cheering. A baby had been born in the village, Duckett’s nephew’s child I believe, and they were ‘wetting the baby’s head’ as it were, which had little to do with the baby itself and more for the excuse to drink. Not that I begrudged them that.

I fell silent during that display of friendship, celebration and the honouring of a new-born. I began thinking, wondering, thoughts racing through my mind again. Reverend Silk had left us on the Wednesday and a new baby arrived the following week. Death had been so at the forefront of my mind that I had been consumed with the morbid, the demise of things and not focusing on the life and the joy of the new. That little baby, new to this world, a lifetime ahead of him. What would the world bring for this child growing up? Were the 1930’s and 40’s and 50’s going to shape him the way the teens and twenties shaped me?

I was lost in a melancholic mood. Not only thoughts of death but thoughts of the past. Albert Crump had resurrected buried memories, and secrets of former days were now closer and closer to being uncovered. Did Crump’s presence hold any real threat of exposure? I didn’t think so, but it was going to be extremely interesting having an old flame as the new vicar of our village. So much was happening. I was struggling to gather all my thoughts in my cluttered brain. I wondered if everyone else was this way, desperately hoping to find meaning in every matter or decision, every look or sign. Birth, marriage, death and that glorious and equally horrific life in between— it was consuming every aspect of my being and I knew there was no escaping the mood I was now in. 

I felt a shiver pass over me and then I felt so cold as though an icy hand had clutched my shoulder and then brushed swiftly on. I turned to look at my loved ones but they were deep in conversation, laughing and joking as they enjoyed their rare afternoon at the pub. It felt as though the whole place had left me behind, like I was left watching on from the outside as they cheered and laughed and forgot their troubles. I was watching. And then I saw him, first from the corner of my eye and then a full figure sitting at the bar. It was Charlie. I’d almost forgotten what he looked like but there he was as I remembered him, dressed in fine pinstripes and holding a glass of wine in his hand, raising a glass at me and smiling with that smile all the ladies adored. My darling brother Charlie. Why was he here? 

“Toby, are you alright?” Meg said, prodding me.

“It’s Charlie,” I replied. “He’s come back to see us.”

My three friends looked at me and then at each other. They thought I was mad but I knew in my heart that Charlie was here to check on me. I was convinced. And I was going to prove it.


	7. Is There Anybody There?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a storm holds them prisoner in the manor, Toby is convinced that Charlie is haunting them.

Standing alone, glancing forlornly out of the hall window to the grounds outside, I sighed as the rain continued to lash everything in sight. It was relentless. The heavens had opened sometime during breakfast and refused to ease up after luncheon and we were starting to wonder whether it would still be raining at supper. There was another sudden flash of lightning and then a tremendous rumble of thunder followed by a loud bang from above. Had something fallen off the roof? I didn’t know but as I jumped from fright, I felt an unexpected hand on my shoulder.

“Toby, you’re not still staring at that rain?” Sophia asked as she joined me by the window. “Oh, it is depressing. Reminds me of when I was a little girl and my mother refused to let me see friends in the bad weather in-case I caught a cold. I was awfully lonely. I used to play with my dolls for company.”

I smiled, listening, but not possessing the energy to answer. Sophia’s childhood stories were very sad and despite the fact she had more than the other three of us in terms of a large family, wealth and beauty, she had certainly been the loneliest child. A family loved her but almost too much that they kept her from friends for fear of how those friends would lead her astray.

“Toby, I don’t want to seem as though I’m bothering you about this but how are you feeling today? Have you seen…Charlie?”

She said it in that pitying tone, the way they all did. I’d seen Charlie several times since the vision at the pub and of course my loved ones thought seeing my dead brother was the first step to lunacy. Since that day, I’d seen him in the study, and in the garden, and the stables. In every instance he looked the same— smart suit, hat, the warm smile. It was as though he was trying to tell me something.

“Not seen him today so far,” I told her. “I know you don’t believe me.”

“Oh, I believe you. When we want something so badly, sometimes we will it to be. And since the vicar’s death and all about the grave, well it’s no surprise.”

“He’s here, Sophia. It’s hard to believe for me too but if he is here then I want to prove it to you.”

“How can you do that?”

I spun around, tearing my eyes from the window. “I’ve called in a specialist.”

“In this weather?”

“A contactor of spirits won’t be scared by a little storm, my dear.”

“But who is this specialist?” 

“Mrs. Warman.”

“Mrs. Warman, our cook…is a…contactor of the dead?”

“Oh no, not our Mrs. Warman here, the Mrs. Warman other. That is, our Mrs. Warman’s sister-in-law. She’s apparently a very good medium.”

At that precise second Meg and George entered the hall. In Meg’s arms was the newest addition to the village— baby Anthony, little Tony Billings— great nephew of our gardener Duckett who was visiting courtesy of his great uncle and aunt. When the weather had taken a turn for the worse, they had been forced to extend their visit and take refuge in our household. Besides, Sophia point-blank refused to let the baby outside during the rain despite complaining her parents had done the same thing to her as a girl.

“Toby’s hired a medium,” Sophia blurted out immediately as she tickled the baby under the chin.

“A medium what?” George queried, sitting down on the chair and opening a newspaper.

“A medium to contact Charlie,” I said.

I spied three pairs of eyes gazing at each other.

“Yes, yes, I know you all think I’ve gone off my rocker but I’ll prove it to you all when this lady comes in and contacts the dead.”

George suddenly gasped at the newspaper. “Well that might come in handy what with all this grim talk in the papers.”

Meg glanced over his shoulder. “Strike in factory?”

“No, no, here.” He pointed to the article. “That foul murderer has been caught. Remember it? Ghastly business. Found the man’s poor wife strangled with her own stockings and the gardener gone through with a rake. Duckett better watch himself eh?”

Sophia took the baby from Meg and covered his ears. “Oh George, that’s horrid! You can’t talk of such ugliness in front of beautiful baby Tony, especially talk of his own great uncle possibly being run-through.”

“He doesn’t understand anything at this age, Sophia.”

She continued to coo over the baby. “But he’s such an innocent. Can we please stop talking about ghosts and murderers and what-not, it’s so horribly macabre?!”

We all agreed, if not for ourselves, then for Sophia’s sanity, to not speak of anything of the sort for a while, at least until the medium arrived and we were ready to contact the dead!

…

Instead, to distract ourselves from the morbid talk, we took tea in the drawing room and spoke of much more agreeable things whilst simply enjoying each other’s company. George sat in his favourite armchair and devoured the crossword, Meg sat on the floor by the fire reading one of her favourite novels. And quite unusually, perched on the sofa looking rather awkward were Mr. Duckett and his lady wife, drinking warm beverages, confined rather reluctantly to the manor. Finally, to set the picture, Sophia and I sat with baby Tony on our laps. He was a beautiful bouncing baby and his chubby cheeks were very pinchable! To George he was a nuisance but to me he was a cherub and I’m sure if he’d have been my own, I’d have spoilt him rotten. Fortunately, or unfortunately, Tony would only be with us until the storm cleared. 

It was a civilised gathering and I was starting to feel most relaxed when the sound above us started again. There was a tap and then another tap and then a scraping sound as though someone was dragging something across wood.

“Eleanor’s not moving furniture about, is she?” George asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous, she’s a waif of a thing, what a ludicrous idea. It’s Charlie of course.”

I saw the eye rolls from everyone in the room. They’d see! I was convinced I could prove it to them.

“Perhaps it’s the storm,” Mrs. Duckett said. “It’s blowing a gale.”

Blowing a gale! Since when did a gale outside cause the sound of someone inside the house to be shuffling and banging?

…

It was early evening when another noise startled us, this time a thunderous rapping on the door that roused us from our boredom. At first, I had assumed it was from upstairs again, another of Charlie’s doings but it only took a minute to realise that it was not a ghost but quite simply the front door. Fettis opened it, and there, drenched and shrouded by a lightning halo was the other Mrs. Warman, short, fat, and covered in a large raincoat that was down to her shoes. Drops of water were falling onto her chin from her matching hat, making it appear as though she was some kind of water feature from Duckett’s prized garden display.

“Oh, you must be frozen. Come in and warm yourself by the fire,” Sophia said as she greeted her. “What a shame your sister-in-law is away visiting her daughter. It could’ve been such a reunion.”

“You really shouldn’t have travelled here in this downpour,” I said, handing the baby to Meg, and joining Sophia in the introductions. I was man of the house after all.

“Don’t you worry about me, Duckie, I’ve travelled in far worse. And the spirits don’t wait for the weather. In fact, the spirits are too eager to come through tonight. I can sense something in this house.”

“Charlie!” I gasped.

…

Later as the storm seemed to worsen and with it being far too dangerous to venture outside, Eleanor was asked to set up an extra bedroom on the top hallway for Mr. Duckett and his wife and also a cot for their great nephew in the old nursery. It had been the cot I had slept in as a babe and was unlikely to ever be used again in the family. Eleanor agreed to sleep in the room with the baby so whilst Mr. and Mrs. Duckett treated themselves to an early night, the rest of us gathered in the grand library waiting for the arrival of the other Mrs. Warman who had yet to join us downstairs.

“Is all this necessary?” George said as he looked at the round table in the centre of the room, covered in a deep purple tablecloth. “We did a Ouija board once at university. No-one came through, but old Crumpet did vomit all over the board after we drank too much of the red stuff.”

“This isn’t a game, George,” I said, hushing him.

I grabbed Meg’s hand. “This is to find out what Charlie wants. He’s here. He has a message for us. I know it.”

“I want to believe you,” she replied. “Oh, I want to. I miss him so much. Do you remember when I was about five and I hid under his bed and jumped out on him? He chased me around the whole manor. If he is here, maybe its revenge he’s after.”

“I miss him too,” Sophia added. “Oh, I know it wasn’t an entire lifetime and we never spent much time alone but he was my intended after all. Sometimes I wonder.”

I suppose I never mentioned how Sophia and I had made acquaintance and never explained how it was dear old Charlie who she was initially betrothed to. In a way I think that’s what makes it harder, as though I had swooped in and taken something precious of his for myself. Even worse that I should not be the same kind of husband as Charlie would’ve been. But I assure you it was never that kind of action, no intentional taking what was his, not that Sophia was something to own but she loved Charlie in a platonic way. She loved me in a platonic way too. She’d have married whichever nice man she had friendship with because marriage was expected of her. And in that case, I think after Charlie died, I was the right choice to make her happy. 

“You see George, he meant a great deal to all of us,” I said.

“And so, I’m the gooseberry once again. I didn’t meet Charlie boy so therefore I don’t have feelings.”

“I never said that. In fact, I wish with all my heart that you two could have met. I wish he could’ve known you, George, wish he could’ve known about us.”

George was at my side then, stroking my arm the way he stroked Bartholomew. “Really?”

“Yes.” 

I quite forgot myself for a moment and began to lean in to him, our faces almost touching when suddenly the door burst open and we jumped as the other Mrs. Warman stood in the entrance dressed in an all-in-one red outfit and cape. She looked like a strawberry.

“Are we ready to proceed?” she said, striding into the room like she owned it. 

Before she sat down there was another shuffling noise from above. She chuckled. “I see the spirits are anxious to start.”

I’ll spare you all the faffing about that occurred when she sat down— the moving of books, the chanting of words I can’t remember and so forth. I do recall the sounds she made however, a sort of whooshing and mumbling as her body rocked side to side. George and Meg were clearly amused by this and I could see them from the corner of my eye, shaking with laughter but trying to hold their emotions in. Sophia, dearest Sophia on the other hand looked quite terrified like she was about to bolt out of the door at any moment.

Taking one another’s hands, Mrs. Warman did her bit, calling for the spirits to enter, for anyone to come through. She did her side to side shake again and the silence came for several excruciating moments. Had it worked? I didn’t feel any different but I did sense a tiny shiver pass over me.

“Charlie?” I called to the ceiling.

Mrs Warman’s eyes widened and she didn’t blink for what felt like hours. “The spirit wishes to reveal something.”

My heart was in my mouth. My body trembled. This was the moment. I felt it in my bones. Charlie was in the room. He was here.

“The spirit tells me that all is well. There’s eternal peace now.”

George sniggered so I shoved him.

“He mentions branches, lots of branches and birds in flight. So high up and then called to the thereafter.”

George gasped. “Good God! It’s Reverend Silk. Old Silky’s come back to say hello.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, George,” Meg said. She paused. “It’s not is it? It does sound like him though.”

I released Sophia and George’s hands and sighed. Whether this woman was a charlatan or the real deal, one thing was clear, it was not Charlie back to speak to us. I was utterly disappointed.

When the power went out and we were plunged into darkness we all quite agreed that enough was enough. The evening was over. 

…

I found no comfort at all in the so-called medium and after we exchanged pleasantries and she was fed and watered like Bartholomew; she left the manor despite us being most unsure of sending a woman out into the night in ghastly weather. But I supposed she was unlike a normal person and I half suspected when she got outside, she’d turn into a bat of some kind and fly away into the night.

When she had departed, and Silk, I hope, had departed to the other side, I suggested a late- night cup of cocoa with the others to forget about the events of the day. The servants were tucked up in bed so we headed down to the kitchen and helped ourselves. It was scary in the dark, especially with one candle each since the power cuts from the storm, and it felt empty and cold. Without the real Mrs. Warman the place felt less friendly somehow.

“I could make us scrambled eggs,” Sophia said heading to the gas stove whilst boasting about the one time she became cook’s assistant during the servants’ revolt as though it made her an expert on cooking.

Strangely there was no bread to be found, but we were all rather ravenous so we agreed on the eggs. Without our cook in the manor for the past several days, we had endeavoured to eat elsewhere but the storm had prevented us from leaving and so we were forced to endure little nibbles and luncheons rather than anything to properly satisfy the hunger. The only issue was that Fettis had informed us on several occasions that food items had gone missing from the store cupboard and so it was chaotic all around. Just what was going on in our beloved home?

So, there we sat at 3.am, George and I on one side of the bench, the girls on the other, eating scrambled eggs by candlelight in a cold, cold, kitchen. We were quite enjoying it actually, enjoying the thrill of being able to have some peace and I also relished in the opportunity to take George’s hand in mine. It was quite perfect until that blasted noise started again. That banging from above. That shuffling sound. It had to be Charlie! The medium was wrong! I told my friends and they sighed.

“If it isn’t Charlie, then what’s that noise?”

“Perhaps it is a ghost,” George said, placing down his fork. “But perhaps it’s not Charlie.”

“Yes, it sounds far too mean to be Charlie,” Sophia added.

“Could be a poltergeist,” Meg said.

“You all thought it was ludicrous that I imagined my dead brother coming to call but it’s perfectly normal for it to be a poltergeist haunting us?”

“Not exactly,” Sophia began, touching my hand across the table, “I’m not sure at all that I believe in all that as much as I’d love to speak to him.”

“You want to speak to a poltergeist?” asked George.

“You know full well I meant Charlie!”

I rested my hand upon my chin. “I wish to tell him about what’s been happening.”

And at the precise moment, as if my dear brother had heard me, there was another shuffling sound overhead followed by some tapping noises. It was far too loud to be rats or mice. Together, our eyes looked up to the ceiling. 

…

We found ourselves then huddled in a group, well a line in fact, making our way rather reluctantly together to the attic where the terrible noises were coming from. Even as we made our way onto the upper landing, there was the constant tapping coming from above. A shiver ran down my spine but I was in the lead of the group and needed to be brave. George brought up the rear but I wasn’t convinced he was taking it quite so seriously.

“Must we do this?” Sophia cried, backing away. “I can live with a bit of tapping. If it is a ghost, let him stay there, he’s not doing any harm. He could be a friendly type, a sort of adolescent spirit who simply likes to make noise.”

Meg kissed her cheek. “Sweetheart, we have to find out for our sanities and to shut Toby up!” she said, pushing in front of me and making her way up the ladder.

There was suddenly an almighty blast of lightning blazing across the sky and then the roaring thunder was so fierce it was almost as if Zeus himself had released a thunderbolt to strike us down.

The thunder had the effect of awakening the baby and we heard the sound of crying coming from the nursery so we all instinctively made our way towards that room instead. Baby Anthony, little Tony was asleep in there, or awake rather, and once again we all stood in a line inside, looking over his cot in the corner of the room. Lovely Eleanor was fast asleep on the rocking chair and hadn’t heard the cries.

“Eleanor must be exhausted, poor thing,” I said as I leaned over the cot and picked up the baby, placing the tiny creature into my arms. “There, there, Uncle Tobias is here.”

He made a series of sobs and as I stood there soothing the child, I realised how much I enjoyed being uncle. I wasn’t ever to become a father or uncle but if I had, I would, I think, have been extremely devoted.

“Maybe the poor little thing heard the poltergeist,” Sophia said.

“He heard the storm. Wretched weather’s really starting to irritate me,” Meg added.

Once baby Tony had ceased crying and his tears were dried, I placed him back into his cot and we all stood watching over him as he wriggled around under his blanket.

“Have you ever seen a human being who is so precious?” I said.

There was a sudden cough from George. 

“Apart from Georgie.” And when I turned to look at him, he had the most wonderous grin. With that delightful smile and the sandy hair falling into his face, he was a vision of loveliness. 

“We better let the baby sleep,” Meg said.

“And we all better get some sleep of our own,” Sophia said.

We crept out of the room and I glanced at the attic door as we passed. There was nothing but silence now. “But what about Charlie?”

Sophia grabbed my arm. “Tomorrow, dearest. We all need our beauty sleep.”

“Especially Meg,” George quipped.

And the last I saw of them on the top landing was Meg chasing George away, swatting him with the cord of her dressing gown.

…

As morning came and the dreaded storm weakened and became mere heavy wind and drizzle, we sat after breakfast waiting for the sun to emerge from behind its grey mask.

Sophia sat at the piano playing a melancholy number that reflected the last few days, George was reading a novel and Meg sat fiddling with her camera which was most distracting.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Setting the old boy up,” she said, “I’m sure I wasn’t alone in hearing the banging noises after we all finally went to bed. There was definitely someone there and if it is Charlie, I want to get a photograph. The first image of a ghost! I could be famous!”

“A nice family photo eh?” George said, looking up from his book.

“Meg you can’t do that,” I begged her. “Whoever is up there, Charlie or otherwise is not a happy spirit. How will it feel if you start snapping away at it?” 

“Don’t be a spoil sport. Wouldn’t you love to know for sure if it is our Charlie?”

“Yes, but the séance only made me even more confused. Last night we were simply going to check, now I’m not sure what to do. Perhaps it is best to leave well alone.”

Sophia banged her hands on the keys when the doorbell rung and startled her. She waved her hands frantically in that bizarre way she did when she was emotional. “Oh, that scared me. You need to stop talking about ghouls. Will this house ever be rid of the shadow of death?”

We waited for Fettis to answer the door and when he did, we were greeted by the sight of our local policeman, the friendly bobby PC Huggins. Instead of seeing his usual beaming smile under his thick bristling moustache however, there was a severe frown.

My legs froze. My heartbeat quickened. He was looking at me. He then looked at George. His eyes bore into mine and there was a look of unease in his expression. Oh God, how my life in that moment flashed before my eyes. We were exposed. He’d found out. Someone had told on us and the policeman had arrived to arrest us and throw us into dirty lonely separate jails.

My lips were dry and I raced forward, sending Fettis away in haste. I didn’t want my loyal servant to witness my downfall, my arrest, my loss of everything I held dear.

“Are you quite well, Sir?” PC Huggins asked.

I could not see my face but the others told me later that I had turned a shade of tomato red and that I began to sweat profusely. I would be absolutely awful under interrogation.

“What is it, Constable?” Sophia asked, rushing over and showing him to the armchair. She looked discreetly at me. “Have we done anything wrong?”

The constable looked over his notebook and for a few agonising moments he didn’t answer. “Wrong? Why of course not, Mrs. Wells, you’re all fine folk. Whatever made you think such a thing?”

“Well that’s what one usually thinks when one sees a policeman,” George said.

“Only if one is guilty of something.” He looked at me for a few moments and then quite unexpectedly burst into laughter. “Sorry, constable humour. Anywho, it’s more of an enquiry than anything suspect. About a criminal.”

“A criminal you say?” Meg asked, perching herself on the edge of George’s armchair. By this point we were all seated waiting for his explanation. 

“An escaped convict, I’m afraid. Escaped from prison a few days back, on the loose he is, with bloody rage in his heart, no doubt.”

“My goodness!” Sophia said. “How did he escape?”

I gulped. “I think the more pressing question, Sophia, is what he’s guilty of.”

“No need to panic or what not…but two counts of brutal murder.”

“Perhaps it’s the fellow I read to you about in the newspaper,” George began, placing his novel down, “killed his wife with her stockings and then ran through the gardener with a rake when he attempted to stop him.”

“That’s the one. You’re up to date with your grisly murders!”

George shuffled in his seat. “So why are you here?”

“No need to fret or anything, but the man’s been spotted in this village, a sighting several days ago. Apparently, he got rather heavy-handed with the barmaid of the local pub. Owing to the bad weather we think it likely he found shelter after that. We’ve kept it under wraps as not to scare folk but since there’s been no sightings since, we thought we better make enquiries in case there’s been any unusual activity at this manor.”

Suddenly there was a succession of bangs coming from upstairs. We all stared upwards at the same time and my heart sunk in my chest. It couldn’t be! Was the ghost of Charlie no ghost at all but an escaped murderer seeking shelter from a storm? Had we been sharing our home with a killer? Was he lurking above us and worse, above where an innocent baby slept?

“Is something wrong?” PC Huggins asked.

Sophia fell into Meg’s arms. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” She screamed.

George grabbed Bartholomew in a protective hug.

I paced the room. “I think, I think…I mean I can’t be certain but I hate to inconvenience you, Constable, but we’ve been hearing strange noises in the attic for days and we’re now wondering if there’s a murderer up there.”

“Goodness gracious lucifer!” PC Huggins cried, jumping to his feet and pulling out a truncheon. I didn’t like to admit I was quite excited by this action.

“Against a ruthless killer like that. What good is that truncheon?” George said.

Meg suddenly ran to the garden and emerged moments later carrying a rake. “Here, use this, give him a taste of his own medicine.” 

“I’d advise against that, Mrs. Wynter,” PC Huggins said, grabbing hold of the rake. “You leave this to me. No lady shall be venturing upstairs.”

“The baby!” I cried. “Someone needs to get the Duckett family and the servants out but more importantly the precious babe.”

Whilst the constable called his station for assistance, Meg and Sophia agreed to notify the servants and make an evacuation to the church for safety until the fiend was apprehended. Like the captain of a ship, I refused to leave and when two policemen arrived for back-up, George grabbed my hand discreetly. 

“Be careful my brave angel,” he whispered as he led Bartholomew from the danger.

“We want you to stay back, Sir,” the newly-arrived police sergeant said. “You can come on behind us. Keep your distance and be careful.”

And then in a scene that could’ve been taken from some slapstick film, I followed three policemen upstairs, up a ladder, until we reached the attic door.

The sergeant knocked on the hatch. “I say, you in there, you’re surrounded. Come out with your hands up, sonny.”

I wondered why the sergeant was talking to him like he was an unruly child not a double murderer.

Suffice to say there was no response and as the men worked on breaking down the door, I felt the anxiety rise within me. But I also admit to a sudden surge of excitement through my veins. I’d never considered a profession in the world of crime. Somehow it appealed to me and here I was about to assist in the apprehending of a murderer. All the previous fears disappeared, replaced by a sudden derring-do attitude.

They opened the door and there he was as normal as any of us— a dirty and tired man, hiding under an old blanket. Had he given up the ghost? He didn’t even try to fight, just stared at me with bloodshot eyes as he was handcuffed and taken downstairs to be incarcerated back where he belonged. I’d never stared at a killer before, never even been close. Normally I was afraid to even go past any prison for fear I’d tempt fate, but looking at the man, appearing so weak, ill and pathetic, I realised that no-one is as they appear. He was a terrible human, a wicked wrong-doer and yet I never would have picked him from a crowd as being a murderer, of being a certain type.

And then there was me, was I a type, a criminal type? I was not cruel or wicked or evil and in my mind the law was unlawful and cruel and therefore I shouldn’t feel terrible about breaking it. But if I didn’t feel terrible, then why did I never feel at ease? Was the fear of my own incarceration what frightened me more than anything? If only we lived in a more accepting world, one that could see the differences between those who loved and those who hated.

…

We were still talking about our uninvited guest several days later as myself, George, Sophia and Meg walked arm-in-arm to the graveyard for our weekly visit to the resting places of Charlie, father, mother, and Meg’s parents. It seemed we’d lost so many of our family far too young but their memories were well kept alive in our many stories at the manor.

We passed Reverend Crump on the way. His smile was wide and warm as he tended to tidying the graves. “I hear you apprehended a dangerous criminal, Toby, congratulations!” I swore he winked at me and gave me a hungry expression but maybe in the excitement of the event I imagined it.

When we reached the grave of my brother, we placed down the flowers and stood in silent contemplation for a moment.

“I wish I’d known your lot,” George said, laying a lily upon Charlie’s grave.

Sophia placed her arm around Meg as her love sobbed into a handkerchief. Poor Meg felt the losses so deeply. I was so grateful that through it all, I still had my wonderful cousin. 

“Do you mind if I have a moment alone with my brother?” I asked my friends.

They all agreed and Sophia linked one arm through Meg’s and her other through George’s and I watched them as they made their way toward the tree where poor old Reverend Silk had lost his life. How so much beauty could surround such a sad place.

And alone I was, looking deeply at the words upon the gravestone: ‘Here lies Charles Edward Wells. Loved brother, cousin and friend. Missed by all.’

Even seeing his name there brought a lump to my throat and a deep sorrow in my heart.

“Charlie, I know now it wasn’t you in the attic but wherever you are I hope you can hear me. I realise I wanted it to be you because it meant I could talk to you again and you would be aware of everything in my life. I never got to share some things with you and I think if you were alive now, I’m not sure I could. I don’t know whether you would have scorned me or hugged me and I guess I’ll never know, but I must tell you before it eats away at me.” I paused and took a deep breath. “I’m not like you. I’m not like most men. I’m in love with a man named George Wynter and he loves me too. It isn’t probably what you expected. I’m not sure you knew of my differences. But I’m alright, I’m the same really. I’m happy, you see, and I know you’d want me to be that. And now I’ve told you, I can let you go. I can grieve you and I can miss you but I have to stop worrying about your opinion of me. You’re not here to tell me off or to comfort me. All I can say is that I endeavour to do you proud and that when I looked up at the sky, I’ll think of you, my dearest brother.”

I glanced upwards, and as my eyes looked back to Earth, I saw him— Charlie— standing by the tree in his pinstripe suit. He tipped his hat at me, smiled, and then faded away. Meg had no idea she was standing inches away from her beloved cousin.

“Goodbye Charlie,” I whispered.

I never heard or saw the ghost of Charlie ever again but in some ways, he never left me and even as I write this as a silver-haired old man, he’s still there somewhere waiting for me to join him, inspiring my words. He’s there with Meg and George and Sophia, and I cannot wait for the day when I am reunited with them all once more. Until then, I relish in the stories of my past and the rich, full life I led with the dearest people in the world. The story goes on forever and there’s lots more to tell.


	8. The Play's The Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toby has 48 hours to write a play for the church group. Is he up to the task?

With all the challenges that I faced in my unconventional life, I never expected one of them to be writing an amateur play. Yes, you read correctly— a play—and you’d think that with myself being a keen and able writer that it would have been easy, that constructing a story and characters could not be a challenge in the way that more important tasks were. But that weekend in 1926 when I sat down in my study, staring at a blank page, I had to wonder why I’d allowed Albert Crump to talk me into writing this play for our local church and community to perform.

I remember the weekend perfectly, not only for the fact I had two days to finish writing but also it was George’s 40th birthday and we’d recently returned from a week in London to celebrate the momentous occasion. We’d dined at the Ritz, taken in a show, had a marvellous time of it until we arrived back at the manor with Fettis informing me I had two days to write an entire play before rehearsals were to commence the next week. Talk about a shock to the system.

So, there I sat, at my desk, pen in hand, suddenly without any thoughts at all. I didn’t have the faintest idea of a theme, moral, plot or genre. Was it a love story, was it a horror or crime or an over-the-top misunderstanding or farce? Did I write what I knew? About us? Well if I did, I would be straight in prisoners’ overalls. No, it was for the village and the church. It had to be sweet, chaste, humorous and fun. Of course, I planned to inject a little drama and excitement for good measure but it was all fruitless if I didn’t even have the idea.

“How about a murder-suicide pact?” George said as he sat trouser-less in the armchair.

“George, it’s meant to be family-friendly.”

“Who says I’m talking about the play?”

“Would you take this seriously? I’m panicking. I don’t want to get it wrong.”

I put my pen to paper to write ‘title by Tobias Wells’ and as I did so the door opened and in came Meg, holding her camera, fiddling about with the lens. I sighed, dropped the pen back onto the paper and groaned. “Meg! You’ve interrupted my flow.”

“You haven’t written anything yet,” George reminded me.

My cousin didn’t look at me and instead took the opportunity to take some photographs as I stared helplessly at a blank piece of paper. “I’m only here to take photographs of the creative process, besides as I’m directing it, I need to know the plot.” 

“The plot is a blank page at present but I’m leaning towards a gentle love story.”

“Oh, no murder?” 

Meg sounded disappointed as she continued to snap away as I grew increasingly irritable with her. I could feel a pounding in my head and my heart was racing.

“I think we’ve had enough murderers around here,” I said and then glanced at her, “although if you keep snapping away…”

“Alright. I’ll take some of George.”

She pointed the camera in the direction of her husband but when she noticed his bare legs, she pulled the camera away and her eyes rolled upwards. “Why are you trouser-less in the study?”

“I somewhat neglected to put them on when I came downstairs. I now know why Eleanor looked at me that way.”

“Well cover up, it’s not a nice sight. Your legs are so hairy and pale.”

George sighed and got up from the chair, huffing as he opened the door. He was startled as he collided with Sophia in the entrance. “Pardon me, Sophia, but my legs are offensive to your girlfriend so I’m off to confine myself to trousers.”

I tried to ignore them and looked intently at the page but all I could hear was the commotion behind me as Sophia and Meg whispered and laughed at George’s expense. All my mind could think of then was George’s legs. I almost wrote ‘George’s legs, act I’ on the top of the paper.

“Poor George, trousers do bother him so,” Sophia said. “How’s the writing coming along, Toby?”

I turned around to face her and sighed but Meg spoke for me as though she knew my troubles. 

“Normally it’s someone actually constructing sentences but in Toby’s case it means staring at a page and hoping words form by divine intervention.”

Sophia kissed Meg and then kissed her own finger and laid said finger on my forehead. “You’ll think of something, you always do.”

“In two days?” I buried my head in my hands. Why on Earth had I agreed to this?

“The deadline will inspire you?”

“Inspire me to what though, that’s the question?”

Sophia paced around me, her hands waving about as she tried to think of an idea. The room fell silent as we waited for her to stop but when she did, she suddenly let out a shrill cry. “Ooh, I’ve got an idea, how about two lovers from opposite sides of the tracks?” 

“Maybe but preferably without any stabbings and poisonings.”

“We could make it autobiographical,” Meg said, “just change a few details of our lives.”

“We’d have to change more than that.”

“Oh, but we could!” Sophia said, pacing the room again. “It could be a love story between four people living in a manor. Only to keep up the illusion we’ll make George a girl and Meg a boy.”

Meg laughed. “Perhaps the story could be the husband and wife swapping with the other husband and wife.”

My eyebrow rose. “Isn’t infidelity a bit taboo for a church play? Besides we wouldn’t want everyone to imagine that I got my inspiration from here.”

We were all talking over each other about infidelity plot lines when we were interrupted by Eleanor who walked in after a quiet knock against the wood of the door. “Sorry, Sir,” she whispered, “Fettis asked me to bring your drink. He’s busy answering the front door.”

I smiled as she placed down my much-needed alcohol and I immediately downed it. My rule about not drinking too much had been temporarily disabled during the writing process. “Thank you, Eleanor, that will be all.”

She nodded and exited the room. I watched her leave and then smiled widely. “Ah ha! Eleanor has given me an excellent idea. How about a love story between a maid and a footman? The downstairs love stories are always much more eventful than ours.”

“Are you sure about that?” Meg rose an eyebrow.

“On the surface anyway,” I replied knowingly.

“Oh, that sounds delightful,” Sophia added, clasping her hands together.

“And one dies tragically rescuing the other from an inferno that grips the manor after the ex-lover of the maid plots revenge?” Meg added in one entire breath as she wrapped the curtain around her torso, pretending she was in some kind of Greek tragedy.

Sophia and I exchanged glances and then Sophia pulled the curtains away from Meg, dusting them down as she did so. Sophia was always so very house-proud.

“Inferno! How unrealistic, Meg,” I said.

Trying to ignore the over-dramatics from Meg, and with love in mind, I finally managed to construct one simple sentence and happy with the initial idea, I began to write an all-important second sentence when the door swung open and Fettis entered to announce the guest. “Lady Hendon, Sir.”

I yawned widely, but realising our guest was standing in the room, I pretended I was taking a deep breath instead. I laughed to myself as I caught sight of Sophia, Meg, and Meg’s very expensive camera leaving discreetly through the door. The camera didn’t have legs of course but I think if it’d had known Lady Hendon, it would have grown a pair and run away. Oh, there I was again, legs on the mind! Whatever you do, Toby, I told myself, do not think of George’s legs whilst talking to Lady Hendon!

I stood up and helped the rather frail Lady into George’s favourite armchair. “What can I do for you?”

“I hate to burst in like this, but a little bird tells me you’re writing a play.”

I nodded. “Well…I’m trying to but I only have this weekend and I’ve only managed two sentences so far what with all the interruptions.”

“That’s nice dear. Anyway, I’ll get to my point. Even though acting is considered somewhat below my status, I’d still appreciate a part if you’d be so kind. So, if you could arrange that, yes?”

The cheek of it! I’d only just started writing and she was already casting herself.

“Of course, I’ll need to know the story in advance,” she continued, “it is suitable isn’t it?”

“It’s a love story between a footman and a maid.”

That was literally all I had!

“Well…it’s not perfect but it’ll do. So, I assume I’ll be the lead female role?”

I had no words to reply to such a statement. I stammered. I gulped. I avoided eye contact with the batty kleptomaniac as best I could. Was she deluded? In what universe would I cast a seventy-year- old lady as the young, attractive maid?

“Well, we’ve not discussed casting yet,” I said as politely as I could, hoping it would silence her. 

At that precise second, the door opened and George entered carrying a handful of envelopes. “You’ll be happy I’m finally wearing trousers!” he announced.

“I beg your pardon, who’s not wearing trousers?” Lady Hendon gasped as she peered through her large round spectacles, making her eyes appear far bigger than they were.

George frowned. “Lady Hendon! I hadn’t noticed you sitting there….in my armchair. Goodness gracious where’s Bartholomew?” I could see the terror in his eyes, imagining what could have happened to his beloved cat.

“Don’t worry, George, he’s here,” I said, pointing at Bartholomew who had vacated the chair and was now curled up in a ball by my feet.

“Thank goodness. He does have a tendency to run off,” George said politely.

Lady Hendon shakily rose to her feet. “In that case, I suppose I should be off. You have much to write, Mr. Wells, and I shall only distract you. Remember as I shall be the lead, do take care to amend her dialogue accordingly to a more suitable vernacular.”

I nodded, gritted my teeth and tried not to punch something. I was glad when she made her way to the door and Fettis had shown her off the premises.

“Stupid old bag,” I said, “imagine the idea of a seventy-year-old maid speaking with King’s English.”

“I thought she sat on Bartholomew. That big old derriere would be an awful end for him.”

“What are those in your hand?” I asked.

He smirked. “Requests for parts in your play.”

My jaw dropped. My palms sweated. “What?”

“Calm down, I’m joshing. No, they’re my birthday cards, in case one has forgotten it’s my birthday and instead of being upstairs in our own bed celebrating, we’re in here wearing trousers and you’re getting irritable over some non-existent characters.”

I tugged his arm and pulled him closer, placing my arms around his waist. “I’m sorry, my love. I mean we did celebrate all last week and on Monday you have my full attention. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said, sitting back in his armchair as he began to open the envelopes.

“Thank goodness the thief’s gone,” Meg said as she and Sophia arrived in the room again, sounding not like the dainty ladies they were but like a herd of elephants. This study was busier than Waterloo station!

“Ooh your cards have arrived,” Sophia said, watching as George glanced over his birthday greetings.

He laughed. “Did you really post my card, Sophia?”

“It’s the elegant thing to do.”

He beckoned her over and then kissed her cheek. “Thank you, my dear, and thank you Meg for the rather crude, distasteful homemade one that Toby surely will not let me display but which I love.”

“You’re welcome. So how does it feel to be forty?”

“A year closer to death.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s been enough death in this house,” Sophia said, “Toby’s play is going to bring romance, community spirit and happiness to the village.”

I spun around. “It’s not going to bring anything except blank pages if you three don’t button it.”

I felt guilty as soon as I had said it, after all, they were only supporting me. Luckily, they weren’t offended, in fact I could see them all trying not to laugh as they mimed buttoning up their lips and then proceeded to communicate with each other using pantomime hand gestures.

“That’s worse!” I said, crossing out three sentences of my play that sounded horribly trite. 

“Oh relax!” George arrived at my side and ran his fingers over my neck. It felt so good. “These things happen when you’re at your most relaxed.”

“I’m never relaxed.”

For the next few moments, my pen made contact with the paper and as George ran his hands over my shoulder to massage the tension away, I found myself writing quickly and eagerly. The ideas began to flow, not very eloquently or with logical sense but at last something was on the page.

However as soon as Fettis entered suddenly without his usual knock, George stopped massaging me and instead leaned down to stroke his cat. But without his wonderful delicate soothing fingers, I stopped suddenly too, losing my train of thought in the process. 

“Sorry to interrupt once again, Sir, but there appears to be a fire in the kitchen.”

Only Fettis could announce something so dramatic as though it was something so small and insignificant. 

“A what?” I stood up, knocking the papers onto the floor, scaring Bartholomew who raced from the room.

“It’s being dealt with but shall I evacuate?”

“I’ll sort it out,” said Meg, “you stay here, Toby. They’ll be no need for evacuation. I’m sure we’ll keep this under control before the whole place burns down.”

Sophia, Meg, George and Fettis hurried from the room and I heard George calling after the cat as he left. “Fire, Bartholomew, Fire!”

Alone at last. Finally, I could write down the thoughts that were scattered around my brain. Even if the house was on fire, I was still determined to finish and for the first time that morning I had complete silence. I actually managed to write more in that half-hour than the entire morning and eventually as my arm started to ache from the literary outpouring within me, I looked up at the window and to my dismay there were a whole group of people standing in the garden looking up at the house. Fettis, Duckett and Billy stood at the front holding a ladder and a bucket, whilst George held his beloved cat in his arms. Mrs. Warman sobbed whilst Eleanor comforted her, and the ladies stood back with a collection of valuables on the lawn. Of course, there was one valuable they’d all forgotten…me!

I hastily opened the window and called out. “I say, what on Earth’s happening?”

“The kitchen’s on fire,” Meg yelled back.

Talk about stating the obvious!

“We established that. You said you had it under control.”

Duckett’s booming voice— which was much louder that the rest of us— could be heard over the commotion.

“It’s under control now, Sir, but we’re afraid the fire did spread a little to the downstairs hallway and the kitchen is well…black with ash.”

“Good God! Well, what started it?”

Mrs. Warman burst into tears of an alarming nature. “It was a surprise cake for Mr. Wynter’s birthday what done it. I’m not used to the new oven timer Mrs. Wells brought me as a gift.”

Sophia hugged Mrs. Warman to her chest. 

“The fire’s out now, Sir,” Billy called as he placed down a bucket and wiped his brow with his hand. “I’ve opened all the windows. It’ll be a bit chilly but we’ll get rid of that chokin’ smoke.”

“Could I speak to you all?” I called out.

I should probably have been more specific and requested them individually but there the entire household stood moments later, crowding the study and transporting the ash into the room on their shoes. A sooty looking Billy (though still as handsome as ever) helped steady an inconsolable Mrs. Warman into my eyeline whilst Duckett stood with his trusty bucket.

“I’m so sorry, Sir,” Mrs. Warman said, stepping forward. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes red.

“It’s quite alright, Mrs. Warman. I’m just glad everyone is safe, though I do wonder as to why you all left me in here to die a horrible death.”

“We didn’t like to bother you, Sir,” Fettis said to which there were agreements and headshakes all around.

I nodded and after several moments of consoling our cook with a reassuring hand on her shoulder and a clutch of her hands in mine, I excused the servants and resolved to sort out the kitchen and the mess on Monday. We would dine out and let Mrs. W have a couple of days to recover from the shock. All would be cleaned up and back to normal then.

Meg grabbed George’s hand. “Come on husband, perhaps we better check on Jupiter and Saturn, make sure they’re not spooked.”

“But Billy’s the stable…”

“…Just come on.”

When the door closed behind them, Sophia and I were left alone and the room fell silent. What bliss.

“It’s all going on today,” Sophia said, taking the cross-stitch from the table and sitting on the chair, “but I see you’ve written a few pages. Well done you.”

“I have rather. I’ve even come to an exciting incident.”

“Which is? Is it more exciting than our incident?”

“Well no but the mother of the maid has found out about the secret love letters the footman has been sending her daughter.”

I resumed my writing and for several moments husband and wife resumed their silent and separate activities like obedient servants. It had only gone a few minutes however when Sophia broke the silence to talk of such triviality. That’s one thing I couldn’t accuse George of…small talk.

“Have you seen the new sign up in the greengrocers?” she asked.

I didn’t reply. What was she doing in a greengrocers’ and why was she talking to me about cabbages and radishes? I looked over my script and gasped.

“Cripes, I’ve written that ‘someone looks radishing’ instead of ravishing.”

She giggled. “Dreadfully sorry. This matters a great deal to you, doesn’t it?”

“You may think of it as a silly hobby but I had ambitions once upon a time, not as a squire but as a teller of stories. One day I hope to be able to write down our adventures, because to the outside world they may seem trivial and uneventful but we know different and to us this is a grand adventure. Stories should be told. Besides, I want the villagers to like me.”

“Oh, Toby, they do!”

“I want to bring the community together, want them to be in this play and paint the scenery and make costumes. I don’t think a church should be the only place that gathers people. Theatre is for everyone and accepts people far more than any religion.”

“Don’t tell that to Reverend Crump.”

There was a knock at the door and Meg entered followed by PC Huggins who we’d thankfully not seen since the murderer in the attic incident.

“Toby, the constable wanted to discuss the fire. Shall I explain everything to him?”

PC Huggins brushed past Meg and into the room. “All in good time, Madam. What’s all this then, Sir?” He peered over my shoulder. “Got some writing going on there, eh?” 

He nudged me and winked and to this day I still can’t fathom why that was so amusing.

I looked up at him and nodded. I felt extremely anxious whenever he was in the vicinity, especially when he stood looking over my shoulder. What if he de-coded something in my own language? What if I’d made it glaringly obvious that my female lead was based on George? Or what if I’d allowed some ‘unspeakable vices of the Oscar Wilde sort’ subtext to become actual text?

The constable let out a series of ‘mm-hmms’ and ‘I says’ as he looked over my work. “I see. Sounds like your play is coming along well.”

I hadn’t even realised that Meg too was standing there, looking over my shoulder.

PC Huggins leaned backwards, revealing a pot-belly. “Well down at the station we’re all keen to audition. Hope you’ve got a lovable character for a humble old bobby to play, eh Sir?” He nudged me forcefully until the pen I was holding flew out of my hand, sending ink onto the table.

I was about to scold him before remembering he was a policeman and at that moment I was distracted anyway, noticing George chatting to two of Huggins’ colleagues outside the window. He seemed to be pointing in the direction of the kitchen, no doubt telling them of the fire but for some reason I was immediately struck with that hideous sin— jealousy!

Unlike PC Huggins, the two officers were young and attractive and George was being sociable with them—which he rarely was with anyone. I knocked on the window, George jumped back, and then as though he were guilty, moments later he was waving them goodbye. Thank goodness!

“You’re welcome to audition, Constable, of course, but I can’t guarantee lead roles necessarily. Besides, I have to get the play written first.”

“Well that’s me being told of,” he replied with a chuckle. “I’ll be going then. Duty calls. Glad the house didn’t burn down but shame about the kitchen. Tell your cook to be more careful in future. I’ll let myself out.”

PC Huggins exited as George arrived at the precise-moment I wrote that my character exited the story on the page. How I had managed to write anything with that policeman watching me was a miracle. Everything was happening at the same time. It’s accurate that truth is often stranger than fiction! All the world’s a stage and all that.

George leant his stick by the hearth and then sat down. “The gossip of the house is going to spread like wildfire, pardon the expression.”

“What gossip?” Sophia asked.

“The fire. There’s all sorts of rumours of how it started— a suicidal Mrs. Warman, an arsonist Meg, a jealous Lady Hendon’s son, still with revenge in his heart from Meg’s rejection.”

“I better go and see if Mrs. Warman’s alright. If she hears she’s suicidal she might just do something stupid. The kitchen can be replaced but she can’t. We must take care of her. I hope more words adorn your page on my return, Toby.” Sophia headed out of the door at double-speed.

“I highly doubt that.” But she had already left.

“Don’t be so defeatist,” Meg said. “Come on, read us a little bit. We’ll give you our best critique.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“It’s only a first draft, even Shakespeare’s first drafts must have been utter tosh,” George said. “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo? I’m standing on this balcony waiting for you to turn up and you’re late, you despicable codfish. If you can’t swear to me to be on time then I’ll no longer be a Capulet.”

Was I going to lose my mind? How could I do this in a few days before rehearsals began? Would my actors turn up with no words to place in their mouths?

“Go on, read us a bit,” Meg said, moving Sophia’s cross-stitch so she could sit on the arm of George’s chair. 

I stood up as though I were to deliver a parliamentary speech, straightened myself out and then coughed. “Act one, scene one. Interior. The Manor. Young Georgina loved young Thomas,” I read aloud.

Meg cut me off. “Stop right there.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Other problems aside, you can’t call her Georgina! Isn’t it so glaringly obvious?”

I shrugged. “It was the first name to come to me.”

“I like it,” George added, “used it myself for a while in Soho.”

“Change it, Toby, unless you want PC Huggins to read too much into the reasons you chose it.”

I gave in, scribbling out the name Georgina. “What can I call her then?”

“Consuela?” Meg asked.

“She’s an English maid!”

“Anastasia Featherbottom?” George smirked. “Another of my aliases.”

I sat down and sighed. “Great, I can’t even think of a decent character name for my female lead and George apparently has more names I don’t know about.”

…

And alas the character would remain nameless for a while afterwards and for the next several hours I was left alone to complete much of the first draft. Even by draft standards it was pretty flimsy but it was all I had and it would have to be enough.

By the time the sun was setting and the sky was bathed in a purple glow, I realised I had not eaten a bite in hours and had not even moved from my chair. My legs were asleep. I wanted to be asleep and I knew the kitchen was ash so there’d be no late dinner. My stomach rumbled loudly and I put my pen down for a moment’s respite. It was then I smelt something delicious wafting from the hallway, greeting my nostrils.

The door flung open and in came Meg, Sophia, and George each carrying something appetising on a tray. 

“What’s all this?” I asked, standing up, staring at the meat, potatoes and vegetables as if I was a pauper who hadn’t eaten in days.

“Mrs. Warman’s neighbour kindly allowed her use of the oven. We can eat after all!” Sophia said.

“That’s wonderful,” I declared, “are you all eating too?”

George smiled. “Of course. But we’ll leave you to it in here so as not to disturb your writing.”

They began to leave but I stopped them, grabbing George’s sleeve. “No, please, I’d like to eat with you all. I mean, George, it’s still your birthday. What am I if I can’t spend one dinner with you?”

He took my hand and the three of them led me to the dining room where the grand oak table was covered by a fine tablecloth and the plates were laden with food. It was a beautiful sight. You’d have never guessed that there had been a fire in the kitchen and that part of the manor was damaged! 

We agreed not to talk of the play during dinner but almost the second I had placed a fork full of cabbage into my mouth, the conversation inevitably ended up back to my writing. I could hardly blame them though, my mind could also think of nothing but characters, ink, and dialogue.

“I can’t wait to read over what you’ve done so far,” Meg said. “I’m eager to get blocking.”

“Blocking?” Sophia asked.

“It’s a term they use in the theatre, darling.”

“When are we going to have auditions?” Sophia asked.

I almost choked. I didn’t even want to think about having to cast the characters, especially the two leads.

“Monday,” I said through gritted teeth. “And I’d like you all to be there. I’m going to need all the help I can get, especially with Lady Hendon. How am I going to persuade her that she’d make more impact as a tree than the maid?”

Everyone laughed.

“But seriously, who will play the maid?” George said and I could see him stroking Bartholomew under the table.

I was about to reply when I saw Eleanor scurrying past carrying a broom to the kitchen. I watched her and then placed down my fork.

“You know, if I want a realistic maid then I should cast Eleanor. She’s perfect. She’s young, she’s pretty, she’s natural and actually a maid.”

“Yes, but can she act?” Meg said.

“She has to suck up to all of us every day and still not appear as though she wants to kill us, of course she can act,” George said.

“And need you be an actual maid to play a maid?” Sophia asked. “I mean, surely acting is playing someone you’re not?”

“True but it’s also about getting into the role and do you really see any of the refined young ladies of the church group having any idea how to play the part of a maid?”

“I’ll ask her then,” Meg said. “Eleanor,” she called out in a very loud voice.

When Eleanor arrived in the doorway, she had her shoulders hunched and her face was white as though she was frightened.

“Nothing to worry about, Eleanor,” Sophia said, beckoning her over. “Mr. Wells has a request for you.”

“Yes, Sir?”

“How would you feel about being in my play? Well, being the star as it were?”

She paused. “Me? Why?”

“Toby thinks you have what it takes,” Meg said.

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Sir. I’ve never acted on stage before. I’m not sure I could!”

“Well, would you at least audition so we can see what you’re like?” 

She thought for a moment and then smiled. “I suppose that couldn’t hurt.”

I rubbed my hands together excitedly. “Excellent. You may go now, Eleanor, but you have a think about it.”

I chuckled as I saw Bartholomew race from the room, following Eleanor outside into the hallway. George’s cat seemed to like the maid because she was the one who fed him scraps of meat from the kitchen! 

“Well that’s one thing we don’t have to worry about. Now all we need is the perfect person to play the male lead.”

“I suppose Billy could do it,” George said. But I wasn’t sure.

…

After we’d finished our grand feast, I was rather stuffed like a Christmas turkey and had barely the energy to leave my chair, let alone make my way to the study to have one final attempt at a few more lines before we all turned in for the night. The four of us laughed as we clung on to each other, full-up and giddy as we opened the door to the study and fell inside the room in a heap.

“Come on then, Toby, read the play to us,” Sophia said, making her way to George’s armchair and falling upon it.

I was reluctant to show them all my first draft. It was rough, it was far from perfect and I was a perfectionist who wanted my loved ones to think I was brilliant at what I did. Was I really ready for them to see I wasn’t so wonderful? I looked at their faces, each in turn, and could see the eager expressions adorned there. I sighed. I gave in.

I made my way to the table and reached down for my script but the table was empty, just a space where the papers had been.

“It’s been stolen!”

“Nonsense,” Sophia said, “You must have moved it.”

“I swear I haven’t. Lady Hendon must have pinched it.”

“She hasn’t been here in hours,” Meg reminded me.

“Well, where is it then?”

I caught George’s eyes staring downward to where under the desk was Bartholomew, papers beneath his paws and he was shredding it. My script was in utter pieces on the floor— bits of paper sprinkled like snowflakes over the dark carpet.

“You evil thing!” I yelled, shooing him away, tempted to kick him up the backside.

“He’s just a cat, Toby!” George yelled back, following the spooked animal from the room.

“My script’s all gone,” I said, slumping in my seat. I could honestly have cried and not just a few tears but ugly sobbing like Sophia at that time in the restaurant with her parents. “All my hard work!”

Sophia rubbed my arm. “Toby, this can be fixed,” she said, gathering all the scraps of paper together and laying them on the table like a jigsaw puzzle.

“Give it up, Sophia, it’s finished. I was never meant to write this play. God is clearly against me.”

Meg shoved me. “You’re so defeatist, cousin Toby. Where’s your wartime spirit? Come on, what’s the matter with you? We’ve got tomorrow, haven’t we?”

I looked at Sophia, my tear-stained face red and blotchy. “Will you help me?”

“Of course, I will.” She cradled me in her arms as we sat squashed upon the chair together.

I saw George arriving back in the room, looking sheepish as he made his way towards us. “I’m terribly sorry, my love, I should have watched him, made sure he didn’t come in here. It’s all my fault. I’ll tell the village if you want me to.”

I shook my head and beckoned him over until he was beside me, sitting on the arm rest, running his hand softly over my hair. Meg then approached and sat down on the floor at my feet until all four of us were crowded by that one chair, arms and legs all over the place, knowing that of all our life challenges this was just a drop in the ocean. We had and would face far greater obstacles but for now this was our battle and we worked long into the night and next day, all four of us, writing and writing, fighting and fighting until finally we had a play to perform. They voiced their opinions and the work was all the better for it.

We worked best as a team, always did, and now as I sit alone years later, staring at that empty armchair and writing our stories…I wish they were here to help me. But I’ll always have the wonderful memories of the time we wrote and performed that play and with that in my mind I feel, even alone that they are with me and always will be.


	9. The Meddlers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When maid Eleanor develops a crush on the boy from the village store, Toby and co. are determined to pair them up.

Romance was in the air that spring and as flowers blossomed around us, there was a harmonious feeling surrounding the manor as though our garden was also finally blooming for the first time in ages. Rehearsals for the play had commenced weeks earlier and after the initial feeling of wanting to rip my eyes from their sockets, the play was coming together nicely…well…it was coming together anyway. It wasn’t to the quality of a Noel Coward but it was good enough for the local community and I was surprised I was pleasantly calm about the whole matter.

Eleanor was flourishing in the role of the now-named maid, Dotty, and as life imitated art, a young man in the village had caught her eye, prompting us nosy four at the manor to step in and set the wheels in motion for a romance off-stage as well as on. The young man was a charming fellow named Christopher Marks, probably but twenty-one-years of age and with a smile that could rival George’s. His dimples were the talk of the town and nearly every young lady’s head had been turned by this handsome youth. But what sealed the deal was that to add to his exterior gifts he was also incredibly nice, modest and hard-working. She was smitten and though she was as pretty and delicate as a daisy, he had his pick of many girls. We were determined to make sure that our Eleanor was his choice. It’s not that we were interfering per se, more that something had come to my attention during rehearsals. I had caught Eleanor alone upon the stage, staring ahead.

“Is there something wrong?” I had asked, hoping she wasn’t losing interest in her leading role.

“Oh, no, sorry, Sir. I was in a right trance. The play’s got me thinking.”

I laughed. “Good job we don’t really have a footman for you to liaise with eh?”

She smiled politely but there was a sudden hint of sadness in her eyes.

I gently touched her shoulder. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, I just got thinking ‘bout things that are never gonna happen. Your words are so beautiful, Sir. No man will ever say those kinds of words to me.”

A tear fell down her cheek and I was uncomfortable around crying women so I once again gently tapped her shoulder. She was looking up at me with large watery eyes, like a little deer and my heart was lost to her. I wanted to protect this innocent creature. As I comforted her with my hand rubbing her shoulder gently, I caught a glimpse of her father standing by the door, waiting for her.

Eleanor quickly wiped her eyes with her sleeve and then hopped off the stage to greet him. I watched as they linked arms. Her tears had her in my thoughts all that night.

…

In the garden the next morning I told Sophia of Eleanor’s worries to which she immediately informed me that she was a marvellous matchmaker and could have Eleanor and Christopher paired up in no time at all. I was dubious so asked her of her credentials and experience (after all matchmaking was a tricky business) to which she assured me she had set-up three of her siblings with their respective partners. It was rather impressive if one ignored the fact that her brother and his wife were always throwing priceless vases at one another.

“This is so exciting!” Sophia cooed, clasping her hands together.

What had I unleashed?

George and Meg arrived behind us on the lawn. 

“What’s exciting?” Meg asked, taking her arm from George and linking it through Sophia’s.

“Sophia has it in her mind that her matchmaking genius can bring Eleanor and young Christopher together.”

“Who’s young Christopher?” George asked.

“A boy from the village shop. He’s perfect for her and I have quite the flair for matchmaking,” she said.

“She thinks she’s cupid now,” I said.

Sophia held her arms out as if she were holding a bow and arrow. “Too right. I aim, I shoot, and I never miss.”

…

“I cannot hear you!” Meg shouted at the actors from the back of the church hall as we rehearsed one day closer to opening night. Every time I looked at my cousin, she was scowling or hissing.

I could see some eye-rolling from the cast as they were interrupted again mid-performance by Meg who had turned into the director from hell. She was wonderful at the creative side of it but her people-skills needed fine tuning. Every time she upset one of the actors, I was forced to apologise most swiftly before we had a bigger strike than the general one.

“Diction! Diction!” she hollered.

“Meg, is it possible you could critique in a more…quiet manner?” I asked, avoiding eye-contact with her and instead glancing like a coward over my script.

“There’s nothing wrong with tough love, Toby. I’m not here to be liked.”

“Well that’s good because nobody does.”

“Fine!” She looked at the cast. “Let’s all take a five-minute break to have a think about where we are!” 

“Meg, you can be tough without being rude. It is possible.”

She sighed, sat down and lit a cigarette.

“You’re smoking!”

“Do you blame me with this lot? Eleanor’s not bad but her voice level is like a mouse and the others well…”

“They’re amateurs, Meg, may I remind you of that?”

“Alright, Toby darling, I’ll go easy if I can.”

I smiled then as my Georgie came into view. I wasn’t certain where he disappeared to but he was never one for socialising with large groups so I knew that whenever he had vanished, he had found some quiet little nook to escape to. He was red-faced when he greeted me. “Good lord. I was standing outside for some fresh air when a stampede of your cast nearly knocked me flying.”

“Meg called a break. They took their chance.”

“Indeed. That Lady ‘Kleptomaniac’ Hendon has the face of someone sucking a sour lemon.”

“She’s peeved that she’s playing the role of resident old lady and not the young lead. She should be grateful she isn’t a tree.”

“I bet she’s even more peeved that she has to work with so many peasants. Have you seen the state of some of our male cast?”

“George, don’t be rude. They don’t exactly have our privileges.”

“I wasn’t being rude, far from it. Think it’s rather attractive. Maybe you should rough yourself up a bit from time to time, Toby. Skip a bath or two for extra authenticity.”

When the cast re-entered, Sophia was with them, leading the way, all clean, fresh and beautiful like the spring morning it was. She honestly looked like an angel as she walked the aisle toward us and in her cream and white dress, it was as though she were about to get married. All of the actors were watching her too— I’d never really thought deeply about that. My wife was a considerably beautiful woman and men noticed her. If I was her husband than should I have acknowledged that I noticed? Should I have pretended I was jealous of this attention? Had I made it obvious that my affections were merely platonic? Surely, I shouldn’t play the role of one of those insufferable jealous husbands?

Why was I becoming side-tracked when the play was the focus? 

We resumed the rehearsals and the four of us sat and watched as our performers carried on with the run through. I must say it was a rare sight, the four occupants of the manor presiding over things like members of a court. Meg clearly in the role of the prosecutor and me as defence.

“It’s rather good isn’t it?” Sophia said. She’d been in a cheery mood since she’d decided to play matchmaker. “I have some ideas about our Eleanor situation.”

“Well at the moment Eleanor is a little preoccupied and she still has her chores to do,” I reminded her. “Besides it’s not her we need to convince. Half the village is in love with young Christopher. How can we be sure he’ll fall for our leading lady?”

“You leave that to me,” Sophia replied.

We were interrupted by a cough from our leading man Henry. “Sorry to intrude but can I say, I can’t quite get the hang of this bloke, Mr. Wells? He’s the daftest old footman I’ve ever heard of. I mean, he’s a right old sappy sod, ain’t he?”

I walked toward the stage. “Sappy…sod…he may be, Henry, but he’s ardently in love with Eleanor…I mean Dotty.”

“He’s ardent-what?”

“Never mind. Imagine the prettiest and most wonderful girl. You can’t eat or sleep for thought of her. Your stomach is in knots for her love.”

“Right, got ya. Like you and Mrs. Wells was it?”

“Something like that.” 

I mean, I certainly had knots in my stomach when I married Sophia, if not for quite the same reason, but all I could think of at that moment— speaking of love as we were in that romantic spring— was my Georgie. Our first meeting had been an encounter I could never forget. And as people spoke around me, I could feel my mind drifting back…

…

It was a scorching hot day in 1917 when I first saw George in the small bunker in the trenches. After an injury which had sent me to the base hospital for a few weeks respite, I was well again and to report to a Captain Wynter and resume my duties as Sergeant. Soldiers had described George to me as a rather foppish sort, a somewhat vacant chap who would quite frankly rather be on his own then socialising with the other men. My mind began picturing him as a wimpish sort with a pencil-thin moustache and a plummy voice that set one’s teeth on edge. When I saw him however, looking smart in his uniform, with rosy cheeks and large lips, I was happy there was one good thing to come out of such a horrible and pointless war.

“Captain Wynter?” I said to him as I approached, saluting him and standing to attention. 

He was smoking a cigarette and glanced at me. I caught his eyes scanning over my body. I wasn’t sure if it was to inspect my uniform or something else entirely.

“At ease, Sergeant…?” he said.

“…Wells.”

“Wells.” He smiled. It was a wonderful smile and I watched entranced as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver case, took a cigarette from inside and tapped it against the box.

“Cigarette?”

I accepted. I wasn’t really a smoker but since the war I’d found it rather soothing. “Thank you.”

As I attempted to take it, our hands grazed one another’s.

The surprise touch startled me and I blurted out: “Lovely day isn’t it?” I instantly felt my cheeks redden. It was a warm day, certainly, but lovely? It could never be lovely where we were and saying so made me feel crude and careless. However, George was looking at me, his lips curled into a smirk and somehow that tough day in the war from hell proved less harsh by the look of his soft boyish features. I took a drag from the cigarette and something slipped from my pocket— a photograph.

He leaned down, scooped it up and glanced over it. “Your girl?

“Yes, well she is a girl,” I chuckled. “My first cousin.”

“I see. How very old fashioned!”

“No, she’s not my wife, she’s simply a cousin. Can I start again?”

He handed me the photograph.

“I mean this is Meg. She’s like a sister. Lived with me all my life.”

“No sweetheart at home waiting for you then?” He looked at me as though he knew.

“No, I don’t have any of those… a girl I mean. I don’t…well, I’m not really wanting one of those here at the moment.”

“I should hope not. The trenches are no place for a lady.”

“You should meet my cousin then! One hour in the war and we’d have already beaten the Germans.” I laughed.

It was relaxed like that for ten minutes as we laughed and joked and shared a cup of tea. He even gave me half of his chocolate bar. And then it was time to get back to it all. Back to the war. Back to the blood. And the mud. And the death. But for those fifteen minutes, in our own little world, I’d felt the happiest I’d felt in years.

…

“Toby? Tobias!!” 

Meg was prodding me and as my mind focused on reality, I realised I had been daydreaming and was still standing in the church hall, not in the bunker of the muddy trench.

“Sorry, I was elsewhere. Let’s have another look at the scene, Henry. From the top.” 

And I’m pleased to report that Henry took my advice and the successful rehearsal drew to a close. Eleanor walked back to resume her duties at the manor whilst Sophia and Meg made it their mission to pay a visit to young Christopher and convince him of his affections for Eleanor.

I however was not convinced Sophia was as great a matchmaker as she boasted so I admit that George and I followed her and Meg to the village store with hope that we could capture a glimpse of the ladies in action. Standing in long coats behind a display of stationary, we blended perfectly into our surroundings, looking more like regular village men than squires. We listened carefully as our wives cornered young Christopher who was stood upon a ladder by the tinned vegetables. 

“What can I do for you, ladies?” he said, descending the ladder. “Don’t normally see you in here. How’s the rehearsal going?”

“Not too badly, but a long way to go until performance standard,” Meg said. 

Sophia nudged her. “Meg is being too harsh. The play is coming along splendidly, mostly thanks to out superb leading lady Eleanor.”

Meg eyed up the tins. “We’d like some vegetables for our cook please.” 

“What’s she doing waffling about tinned vegetables?” George whispered.

I placed my finger on his lips. “Ssh.”

I wondered that myself, but knowing Meg, and as shrewd as she was, I was convinced she was trying to add credence to the story of their visit to the store.

Sophia leaned against the ladder casually. “Do you know her? Eleanor that is, not our cook. She’s the pretty one with the lovely gentle voice? Eleanor that is again, not our cook.”

“Eleanor Tapsell? Sure, I’ve spoken to her a few times casually-like.”

It was unclear by Christopher’s reaction whether he had any feelings for her at all which confused me immensely as the working-classes were usually known for expressing themselves far more openly than my people. Instead of any further reaction he began to climb the ladder.

“We were wondering if you were coming to see the play?” Sophia asked, grasping his sleeve and practically pulling him away from his task.

He steadied himself on the bottom rung. “Could do if you like, Mrs. Wells. Me mother’s a lover of the theatre. She don’t get to go often. What’s the play about?”

“Young love. Don’t you simply adore a love story?” Sophia by now was dangerously close to what I would call flirting.

“Love? Sure, but I prefer a bit of murder.”

I wasn’t sure that was the response we wished for, after all Eleanor was our responsibility and I wasn’t intending to pair her with a man who enjoyed murderous activities. We’d already had a killer in the attic!

“Yeah alright then ladies, I’ll come along. Eleanor sounds a real draw eh?”

“She’s the best part,” Meg chipped in. “Do you like her?”

“Again, only spoken to her the odd time. We’ve not really been formally introduced.”

Sophia clasped her hands together. “I shall arrange a meeting. We’ll be in touch. Lovely to meet you properly, Mr. Marks.”

Young Christopher nodded but from his reaction it was obvious he was baffled by their behaviour. George didn’t help matters when he knocked into the stand and sent a dozen onions rolling onto the floor.

“Oh really!” Sophia said, shaking her head. “Meg, our husbands felt the need to spy on us!”

We apologised on the way back to the manor and to be quite honest they were still frosty with us the next day when we met for tea in the living room mid-morning. We’d only recently sat down to take it when Fettis entered announcing that Christopher was at the door carrying a bouquet of flowers.

Sophia jumped up from her seat nearly sending hot tea over George.

“This is it! Cupid’s bow has hit its target! Where’s Eleanor? Fettis would you send for her? I’ll see to Mr. Marks,” she said.

We followed behind the practically skipping Sophia and hid behind the plinth as she greeted the young man in the hall. His delightful smile erupted as soon as he saw her. What on earth was happening here?

“Mrs. Wells, you look terrific.”

George, Meg and I exchanged glances but Sophia hadn’t listened to the compliment and was instead gazing at the flowers.

“What wonderful flowers,” she said and before she knew it, Christopher was handing them to her so that the bloom itself covered the entirety of her small delicate face. Only her pinned up hair-do could be seen behind the petals.

“Glad you like ‘em, Mrs. Wells, a beautiful lady should have beautiful presents.”

“They’re for me?” Sophia said dropping the bouquet and spinning back to face me. She frowned. “Don’t you mean for Eleanor?” She hastily picked them up.

“Why would they be for Eleanor?”

It was at that moment that the aforementioned Eleanor arrived in the hallway and immediately began to sob. She ran from the room in humiliation.

“Is she alright?” Christopher asked.

I stepped forward. “Yes, fine, a headache. Look, Christopher, I think it would be best if you went home now.”

I motioned for George and Meg to escort him outside and I listened and peered through a gap in the door as they spoke with him on the doorstep. Christopher was running his hand through his hair with shaky hands.

“I hardly think it’s appropriate for you to bring flowers to a married woman,” Meg said to him.

He bowed his head in shame. “I’m sorry. I don’t really know what came over me. Mrs. Wells was being so friendly-like, I thought she cared for me or something. I’m not good with romance lark, that’s why I said I prefer murder.”

“Mrs. Wells was being nice, Christopher,” George began, “If a lady is nice to you it does not mean she wants something.”

I was impressed. Since when did George know anything about women?

Christopher shook his head. “No, no, I didn’t think of nothing degrading-like. I know she’s a lady and I’m nothing but when I heard this rumour that not all was well with the Wells’… well, you know…”

“What’s this about a rumour?” Meg asked.

“Everyone’s gossiping in the village that there’s friction between the two of ‘em. I heard not all was rosy in their garden. But pardon my impertinence, I didn’t mean to cause trouble. And I didn’t mean to upset Eleanor, is she alright?”

“Honestly lad, you’re clueless,” George said, “Eleanor likes you, Sophia most certainly does not.”

“Blimey, I got the wrong end of the stick, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you jolly well did, young Christopher.”

“Make my apologies. It’s just them’s big rumours, Mr. Wynter. And it’s a surprise to hear about Miss Eleanor, I mean, from what I heard, it’s the master Mr. Wells what’s after her. Her father saw them all affectionate. Told the locals at the pub he saw him touch her shoulder all gentle-like.”

Meg and George exchanged glances whilst I felt my heartbeat quicken in my chest. I was stunned. How had this happened?

“Leave this to us,” Meg said as she turned Christopher away from the manor. “Rumours are rumours and, in this case, utter nonsense. Nothing is amiss in the marriage of my cousin and Mrs. Wells.”

When they came back in, I was already pacing back and forth beside the Grandfather clock, agitated and panic-stricken.

“Everyone thinks I’m after my own maid!” I cried just as Fettis, Sophia and Eleanor appeared beside me. 

I could barely look Eleanor in the eye. What must she have thought of me? She was so naïve. She had no idea who I really was, how I really felt about George. My behaviour toward her was like that of a guardian. How had I let others perceive it differently?

“I’ve your coat, Sir,” Fettis said. “I suggest a nice trip to the village. Mr. Tapsell would like to see you.”

I didn’t stop to question. I didn’t take anyone aside. I grabbed my coat and headed to my car.

…

When I returned home after the visit to Eleanor’s father, my household was to see me at my most pitiful.

“Toby, someone’s punched you in the eye!” Meg shouted as soon as she saw me. She seemed excited but still I suppose the emphasis was accurate.

Fettis excused himself to fetch something cold whilst my loved ones fussed around me, stroking my hair and sitting me down.

“Did Eleanor’s father do this to you?” Meg asked.

“I tried to explain to him but he gave me no warning. As soon as I uttered one word, his fist was flying in my direction. He wouldn’t let me explain that he’s got the wrong end of the stick. I felt like telling him right there and then that not only am I not interested in his daughter but I’m also not interested in the female of the species.”

“You should’ve!” George said, smirking.

“I came to my senses before I did that, thank goodness!”

It was at that moment that Eleanor ran into the room. “Oh, Sir, I’m so sorry. May I be excused at once to go and see my father? I’ll explain everything to him, I promise. And I’ll give him a telling off for hurting you, Sir.”

“I hope you can make him see sense, Eleanor. He wouldn’t listen to me.”

“I’ll sort it out, don’t you worry. He’s not been right since mother died. And you’ve been so kind to me, Sir, I’ll not let him ruin your reputation.” 

“He thinks I ruined yours!”

She curtsied and then I nodded to let her leave. She blushed and then hurried downstairs to the servant’s hall. 

“Your steak, Sir,” said Fettis, arriving seemingly from nowhere.

“Steak? I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly eat at a time like this, Fettis.”

“It’s for your eye, Sir,” he said, shoving the cold meat onto my eye. 

…

The one upside to being set-upon by a ruffian was the inevitable sympathy and love my dearest ones placed upon me and the for the remainder of that day I could sit on the settee next to George, do nothing, say whatever I wanted and everybody was quite content to let me be idle and wallow in self-pity. I sat in silence for a good while, contemplating on the mistakes I’d made. 

To take my mind off of things, Sophia and Meg discussed their first meeting. They’d told me scraps of information before but I’d never heard it in detail, and as they spoke of it, I was strangely eager to listen. The setting of their meeting was vastly different from mine and George’s and where we had met in a muddy trench, dirty and tired from fighting, the ladies met at a grand charity ball, in aid of raising money for the soldiers.

“I saw Sophia from across a crowded room,” said Meg. “I knew instantly that she was the right one for me.”

…

I pictured the scene as they told me. Beautiful dresses, grand ballroom, shimmering chandeliers. A world away from the battlefield.

“I think I’d be doing a better job if I was out there helping the soldiers,” Meg had said to Sophia as she sat beside her at one of the tables.

“You mean as a nurse?” Sophia had replied.

“Oh no, can’t bear the sickness. No, I mean, I’d have made a good soldier I think. My cousins are out there of course, but neither of them are really made for that kind of thing. Not that I want to hurt people or take the glory, more do my duty. I’m sorry, I’m rambling. My name’s Meg.” She held out her hand and Sophia took it lightly.

“I’m Sophia. Do you live in London?”

“I’d love to but I’m holding fort at Elmwood Manor for my two cousins.”

“Elmwood Manor is your home?” Sophia had asked.

“You know it?”

“I’ve never been there but oh this is strange. I danced with your cousin Charles at my coming out ball. He was extremely charming.”

Meg frowned. “Why has Charlie always met every beautiful woman before I have?”

Sophia blushed. “Well, it’s lovely meeting you too, Meg. It’s been so long since I’ve had the company of a woman under the age of fifty. I’ve been staying with a multitude of aunts, and all my sisters and nieces are too far from me.”

By the time the story of their meeting was finished I was asleep. 

…

Opening night of our play was the night I’d been dreading for weeks and after a rather disastrous dress rehearsal I had butterflies in my stomach. The actors were voicing my words and if no-one liked them, I’d probably spend the rest of my life being known as the useless wordsmith who wrote a hideous play for the church.

It was only a few minutes until the curtain went up so Meg and I joined the actors in the dressing room to wish them well.

“We know you’ll do us proud,” I told them.

“And remember to speak up, Eleanor. Clear diction,” Meg said.

“Most importantly, have fun,” I said. 

We left the dressing room and I peered around the curtain. It was a full house. My palms were sweating as I stood in the wings, watching as actors and crew scurried past me adjusting costume and lights. I could see the household staff sitting at the back and could see my George and Sophia sitting eagerly in the front row. I took a deep breath and watched as Albert Crump introduced the play. This was it. All the hard work culminated in this performance.

And like a snap of the fingers it was over so quickly. All that worrying and stress and it passed by with only minor hiccups such as line flubs and wobbly scenery but all in all I was proud of my cast and crew and was pleased with the reception from the village. As the audience cheered, I felt satisfied I’d done a good job. I was promptly called onto the stage but owing to my black eye, I declined. Enough people had seen me with it. I didn’t want to fuel anymore vicious rumours about my conduct.

…

By the time we arrived home it was so deathly quiet it was as though we had walked across a moonlit graveyard and I confess I felt a sense of sadness sweep over me. The play had been so stressful, so time consuming and much had transpired (including my black eye) but somehow it had all been worth it for that sense of accomplishment, the applause, and for seeing something we worked so hard for completed— eventually bringing joy to others. I accepted it wasn’t perfect but perfect wasn’t everything. 

We sat cosily on the chairs and talked about the events. It was always our favourite thing to do after a day that had been strange. Even though the play was finished and we could laugh about it and dissect it, there was still some matters left unresolved. True, some matters had been somewhat amended, for example Eleanor’s father had seen sense and written an apology to me but the matter of her infatuation with Christopher was still uncertain and Meg suggested that we stay out of it, after all meddling caused the rumours. However I was saddened if our Eleanor was unhappy and so when the doorbell rung and Fettis introduced young Christopher, I was pleased to see him.

“I’ve not brought you more flowers,” he said, holding exactly that. “I mean, I have bought more flowers but they aint for any of you. Sorry, not being rude, just, I saw the play and it was really something. Well Eleanor was really something. These are for her.” He looked at me and grinned sheepishly. “I am sorry about your shiner, Mr. Wells.”

“Thank you. Fettis would you fetch Eleanor and tell her Christopher is here.”

Whilst Fettis proceeded with his duty, I caught a glimpse of Sophia and she looked clean fit to burst with excitement. She had her hands together, her face red and her cheeks almost about to pop from holding her breath. She grabbed Meg’s hands and they held onto one another as they waited for Eleanor to emerge.

As she came into view, we all looked at her— five pairs of eyes watching her like hawks examining their prey. When she saw Christopher, I caught a blush on her cheeks and she smiled. She was about to talk to him when she looked at us and coughed.

“We’ll leave you to it,” Sophia said giddily. “Come along all.”

She grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the door.

Meg started to pull George from his armchair.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for them to leave?” he protested.

“Just come on.”

…

As I read a book in bed that night with George snuggled up under the covers beside me, I pondered over the events of the previous days and thought about my behaviour and my decisions. I sighed, I mumbled, I turned pages in the book nosily as I attempted to concentrate on the story in my novel and not the story of my life. Grumbling, George sat up.

“Honestly it’s like sharing a bed with a horse,” he said.

I placed my book onto the bedside table and crossed my arms. “I beg your pardon?”

“Moving about like that. I was dreaming I was in the Grand National.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just musing, that’s all.”

“When are you not?”

“Do you think we did the right thing, with Eleanor and Christopher, I mean?”

“They’re happy, aren’t they?”

“I suppose. But they’re not our puppets and we rather treated them as such, didn’t we? How would we have felt if our servants had tried to set us all up with people?”

“That’s nonsense. We’re all married and we prefer men.”

“Exactly. Only we know our own true selves.”

I told myself in that moment that I needed to be more careful in meddling with people’s lives. I spent all my time complaining of people interfering in mine and yet I felt it was alright to do so to others. In fairness it was mostly Sophia’s fault but one can never really feel comfortable placing all the blame on their wife.

There was then a knock on the door that connected the tunnel to our two rooms and after we’d called ‘come in’, Meg and Sophia entered, carrying a sleeping Bartholomew on a cushion.

“There he is,” George said, smiling, as Sophia placed the cushion onto the end of the bed. 

“We thought you might miss him. Are you alright, Toby, you look perplexed?” Sophia said. When she sat down, she accidentally flashed her legs and in embarrassment she immediately covered them.

“Oh, it’s nothing for you to worry about, my dear. I was thinking about Eleanor, that’s all.”

“Yes, it all worked marvellously,” Sophia said.

Meg, who was seated at the dressing table, sighed. “You do realise that if she and Christopher carry on together, she’ll eventually leave service to get married and have babies?”

My mouth gaped open. How could that not have occurred to me? I was going to lose my precious innocent Eleanor. Had I sealed the fate of our household? What if the next maid was an old dragon who would know our secret and tell the police? One could only hope Eleanor had no plans of matrimony for the foreseeable future. I confided in my fears to which the other three laughed and told me simply that I was always thinking the worst. 

We stayed up talking to well into the small hours, in fact we didn’t remember falling asleep but all I do recall is waking up with Bartholomew asleep on my head and the others in a row in the bed beside me. It was all rather innocent of course but I hastily woke them up anyway in case of prying eyes from servants. 

Jumping from the bed, I glanced at the side table and noticed a tray. “Good grief, someone’s already brought a breakfast tray up! That means one of the servants has been in here.”

We scrambled from the bed and raced off in different directions in a panic and I have to say to this day we never spoke of it ever again.


	10. One Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the anniversary of their official nuptials, Toby, George, Meg and Sophia are determined to commemorate their 'secret' unions.

The anniversary of our weddings rolled around rapidly after the opening night of the play and I had many plans of how to celebrate the year we’d all been living together. The idea I finally came to was met with giddy approval and for the weekend of our anniversary we had agreed to give our entire staff two days off and fend for ourselves for the festivities. In truth, the idea of no servants for the weekend was rather liberating though I’d come to care for them deeply. 

That weekend we stood by the front garden on the gravelly path as our household stood packing up the cars we’d ordered to take them to the station for their trip to the seaside. Sophia and I linked arms as Fettis placed some luggage into the boot of one of the cars. The other servants stood by the first car, side by side, excitably chatting to one another, looking somewhat different in their ordinary clothes. I then spied young Christopher Marks coming into view, a large smile beaming across his face. We’d allowed Christopher to take the trip with them just as long as he and Eleanor were chaperoned at all times!

I watched like a proud father as he greeted our Eleanor, took her hand gently and helped her into the car. There were no wedding bells yet where this young couple were concerned but there was certainly a deep romance blossoming. They’d been inseparable since the play and whenever Eleanor had time off, there she was meeting Christopher for a date at the tea shop.

As our loyal servants climbed into the two cars, Sophia and I waved our goodbyes and watched as the cars disappeared down the street. They were gone. We were alone. How would we fare without them? In honesty the trip was as much for our benefit as it was a break for them and I confess a selfishness in my decision to arrange the trip to the seaside and hotel. You see, our wishing to fend for ourselves for the weekend did not come from some desire to appear more forward-thinking nor to be more courteous to our staff but rather because their absence in the manor meant my plan for our anniversary surprise could work much better with the staff out of the picture.

It may have been the anniversary of my wedding to Sophia but it was now going to be my ‘wedding’ to George. Naturally a lawful and traditional ceremony was not possible and sadly we had never consecrated the union we shared with one another. Neither had the girls and we felt strongly that those two unions, the unspoken kind, deserved a celebration of their own. I arranged that we would invite our friends in the know and finally have the ‘weddings’ we wanted. We would gather in the conservatory, confess our love and devotion, and then dance, eat and be merry. It was a secret that we would enjoy and never reveal except to our loyal few. We would then resume our normal lives the following day with the knowledge that those unions were just as sacred and important than our other ones.

Mrs. Warman had supplied us with all sorts of food from the larder before she left and I admit it was fun looking after ourselves as the four of us ventured down to the kitchens, placed the food on platters and carried it all up to where we would feast on a fine buffet when the guests arrived.

We first had to get ready for the momentous occasion. This wasn’t an ordinary day— we needed to look the part. So, there we were in our bedrooms, putting on our finest evening wear to make the grandest impression.

George sat on the bed trouser-less, doing up his shirt and playing with Bartholomew simultaneously, whilst I stood at the mirror, tucking everything in and wondering whether I had put on weight in the year since I had become a married man. I breathed in, fastened nearly everything and then asked George to do up my cufflinks. I noticed that all of his buttons were done up wrong.

“Do you think the girls are doing this quicker than us?” I said, knowing they were. “The guests will be here soon.”

“Hush, Toby. This is our time. If we choose to be late, it is our choice to do so. Besides, these are not ordinary guests attending an ordinary party.”

Even though it had been my idea, I suddenly felt anxious. I dabbed my sweaty forehead with my handkerchief. “You don’t think this was a mistake, do you? Was I being too frivolous? I mean, if someone in the village were to stop by?”

George took my trembling hand and kissed it. “My love, if anyone came to call, they would see four people hosting a party. There is nothing to suggest otherwise. Good clothes, fine wine, and dancing do not a criminal make. There’ll be no orgies, well not unless the night takes that kind of turn.”

At that precise moment, though I wish it hadn’t been on the topic of orgies, the girls entered the room.

“Decent, boys?” Meg called.

“I’m never decent but come in anyway,” George replied.

Meg laughed and then Sophia kissed me on the cheek. “You look almost as good as our wedding, dear.”

“Almost?” I patted my stomach. “I’ve piled on the weight, haven’t I? Be honest.”

“I simply meant that last time we did this you were wearing full top hat and tails, the works. Now you still look very elegant of course but not like a real church wedding as such.”

“Well we definitely don’t want to look like that!”

Sophia and Meg looked starkly different from one another with Sophia opting for a glamorous royal blue dress with sparkling sequins, silvery embellishments and a matching headband whereas Meg wore a glittery gold top and a long skirt covered by a man’s dinner jacket and hat to complete the ensemble.

“Couldn’t decide whose wardrobe to dress out of eh? Sophia or George’s?” I joked.

“Very funny.” She punched me lightly on the arm.

I glanced at us all proudly as we stood there, may I say (apart from half undressed George with the buttons done up wrong), looking splendid. A lump formed in my throat. 

“I can’t believe it’s been a year,” I said.

A year since we’d lived together as a four. A year of being able to share a bed with the man I loved. A year of spending time with the three people in the world that made me the happiest. It wasn’t always the perfect situation and hiding part of oneself was definitely a struggle but when I thought about the life I could have had. I shuddered. I was content. 

“How have I put up with George this long?” Meg said as she sighed and placed her hands upon George’s shirt, starting to undo the buttons. 

“Hello? What’s all this, you’ve never undressed me before!” George protested.

“Calm down, I’m re-doing your buttons, not getting amorous.”

He looked down. “Oh goodness, I did them up wrong.”

“You didn’t think I actually fancied you, did you?” Meg said with a giggle.

“For one horrifying moment, I rather did.”

I confess I enjoyed watching them tease each other and hand on heart I could see so much growth between the two— a friendship developing over the months— and I knew that as the years rolled by, they’d become even closer. 

I was completely lost in my imagination again that I hardly even heard the sudden ring of the doorbell. Sophia however let out an excitable squeak and clasped her hands together.

“I’ll get it,” I said, “George be down in five minutes, wearing trousers!”

As I left the room, I could see Meg grabbing her camera and I knew she’d be snapping away all evening, trying to get the best angles. On this one occasion I didn’t mind just as long as nobody stole the film, negatives, or used them in any way to incriminate us. People outside of the manor could be cruel and it was a cruel world at times. Our personal photographs were this time to remain private and protected.

I fast walked down the stairs. I never really had to walk so quickly before but knowing there was no Fettis to answer the door for me, I made hastily to the destination. I took a deep breath before I answered. It was the moment of truth. I opened the door and our first guests stood in the entrance. I recognised one lady as a friend of Meg’s— a lady who wore chap’s trousers, but the other two ladies were unknown to me. I assumed they were Meg’s other friends she had met in Paris.

“Ladies,” I said politely, leading them inside.

“Tobias!” Maria said. She was the one I had met. I kissed her hand. 

“May I introduce you to Meg’s other friends, Diane and Camille,” she said.

I kissed each of their hands and took their coats. By the time I’d hung them up— the coats— not the people— my three loved ones had joined us in the main hall and everyone was kissing one another, Parisian style, as if we were on the continent. The doorbell then rang again, this time Sophia answered, and suddenly there was a handful of people there— namely Abdul, silent Michael, twin sisters Mallory and Vivienne and two other men looming in the background who I assumed were George’s club pals from London.

He hadn’t told me much of who he was inviting other than they were trusted acquaintances and seeing as they were dressed to impress, it was not a stretch for me to believe he had met them during one of his many visits to Soho. One man, Cecil, I vaguely recognised from a photograph but the other, Herbert, I did not. Cecil was a tall, thin and wiry man wearing a monocle and a rather deep shade of red lipstick and Herbert was wearing a woman’s dress, frills and all. These were not men one easily forgot. Cecil proceeded to kiss George on the lips and knowing George was very fussy about who touched him, I knew they had been close at one time. 

With everyone inside, I drew the hall curtains so that we were hidden from outside eyes.

Unlike our first party a year earlier as newly-weds, this was the real party we’d wanted to host. These were guests who knew us as the real us, and whether we stayed in contact only for a brief time or for the remainder of our lives, they were our very important allies on that day.

I walked over to silent Michael and shook his hand, having not seen him since our trip the beach the last summer. I expected him to still be silent but when I greeted him, he smiled and said. “Ya’ll looking well. Looks like it’ll be a swell party.”

I was surprised he had a voice, and how pleasant it sounded with a deep gravelly Texan drawl. I was also surprised to hear he was making his way into the radio business state-side. With his talents, I was less surprised years later to find he made it big on the radio and was one of the most famous voices of our generation even becoming a war correspondent during World War II. But the biggest surprise of all came from not his face, his voice, his future career, but that he used said voice with great frequency. No sooner as we were introduced, he had told me about his wife, his children, his dog, his vacation plans. You name it, he told me about it. Silent Michael, no longer silent. In fact, he never stopped talking!

The party was all going rather swimmingly after that. We’d had a little food, we’d danced, we’d enjoyed one another’s company and we were all ready for the union ceremonies when there was a sudden hammering upon the front door.

All our heads turned to look at it at the same time.

“Someone late?” Sophia asked.

But as I looked at the room full of guests, I couldn’t see anyone missing. It was a small gathering, carefully chosen, people who knew our secret.

“Oh God, someone’s found out,” I said, a sudden panic consuming me.

“We’re not actually doing anything wrong,” George said, rubbing my arm. “We’re just friends drinking and being merry.”

“George is right,” said Abdul. “We were used to uninvited guests in Paris, wondering what we were up to. The key is to stay calm. If you act nervous, they’ll think we’re all up to something.”

“Besides this is the countryside not Paris, why would anyone think anything is going on?” Sophia said. She made her way to the front door but I pulled her back and made my way beside her. The sequins of Sophia’s dress were sparkling under the lights of the chandelier and there we stood together by the door, ready to face our doom.

I cautiously opened the door, taking a big gulp at the same time. My heartbeat quickened when the first thing I saw was the glint of silver from a badge on a policeman’s uniform. Oh God, they’d come to arrest us! I looked down at the feet in black heavy boots and then the dark trousers and then the navy-blue uniform jacket.

“Mr. Wells, are you alright?”

Finally, I looked at his face and realised it was PC Huggins, beaming widely like a chilling clown doll under his unruly moustache.

“PC Huggins?” I spluttered.

He took off his helmet. “I bet you’re surprised to see me?”

“A little bit.”

He barged passed me and chuckled when he saw the group of party-goers who were now congregated in the main hall wondering what was going on. 

“Ooh a shin-dig! My, don’t you lot look colourful.”

I saw a quick glance from Huggins to Abdul and then a double-take from him as he caught sight of Diane wearing a man’s suit and Herbert in a dress.

“Blimey, you lot like to do the whole fancy dress lark. Hope none of yous is dressed as a policeman. That’s a criminal offence you know?”

Cecil laughed. “Actually, it’s impersonating a policeman that’s a crime, not simply dressing as one!”

Meg leaned in to me. “Good job, otherwise George would have been arrested multiple times.”

“I won’t ask how you know about that.”

“Sophia and I have pinched his uniform many times.” She smirked.

I didn’t want to know what that sentence implied. Luckily, Huggins had not heard any of this! I’m not sure his heart was strong enough to withstand that kind of information. He was an ordinary sort, used to traditional values. His police duties were very little and he rarely came across any real danger or any unique situations that could question his moral opinions.

“Mind if I have a sarnie?” PC Huggins said, already eating said sandwich he took from the table. “Cor, that’s a gooden. Congrats to the chef. Mrs. Warman in the kitchen, is she?”

“She’s away,” Sophia told him. “All of the servants are on two days leave.”

“Are they really, Madam?” he said, looking at Vivienne and Mallory one after the other. “Am I drunk and seeing double or are you two twins?”

Vivienne held onto her cigarette holder with a delicate grasp and then took a slow drag before she exhaled the smoke into the policeman’s face. “No darling, we’re not related,” she said with sarcasm.

“My mistake. It’s incredible what make-up can do. You look so alike.”

He then looked at Meg and Sophia who were standing arm in arm by the buffet table.

“When the servants are away, the masters will play eh? Normally it’s the other way around!”

“They deserved a break. They’re off to the seaside,” I said, gently nudging the constable to the door. 

“Even servants deserve happiness,” George added, grabbing Huggins’ other arm and trying to hoist this spare part from the property.

“Hold your horses here, boys. I think, seeing as you’re all on your own that I should do my duty and take a look around, make sure everything’s secure. No offense but your lot aren’t the best at protecting yourselves.”

We all stared at one another. Our lot of what and why wouldn’t he leave?

He broke free from our grasp and began to make his way up the staircase. “I’ll just check upstairs if you don’t mind.”

“Alright then, constable,” I said, shrugging to our friends as they all sighed.

When PC Huggins was clear out of sight, we all gathered in a circle like witches in a coven, plotting over a bubbling hot cauldron.

“God, let’s get rid of the stooge,” Viv said as she hiccupped her way through a glass of wine.

“What you mean bump him off?” Herbert said, adjusting his frock. “I suppose we could give it a go!”

We all looked at him.

“This isn’t one of your games of wink murder, Herbie, this is real life,” Meg said.

“Well how else do we get rid of the bugger?” George said.

“Creativity my dear George,” Abdul said, “always creativity.”

…

There was a strange sort of excitement in the notion that the outcasts of society were bonding together to rid the house of the nosy pest, PC Huggins, our mutual enemy. Alright, maybe I was being melodramatic but that’s what happens when a group of theatricals get together at the manor.

Sophia and I made our way upstairs to keep an eye on the over eager constable whilst silent Michael— or rather talkative Michael along with Meg and Mallory (the three M’s) carried out Abdul’s plan. I heard the door closing as they left the house.

“Is someone leaving?” PC Huggins said as he glanced over the bannister.

I think PC Huggins was secretly fond of the place and would rather patrol inside than outside in the pouring rain. From his rumbling stomach I didn’t need to be a detective myself to conclude he was also disappointed that Mrs. Warman wasn’t there to make him dinner. But he did, without asking, take another sandwich or two when he’d passed the table on the way upstairs.

“What is it you need to look at?” Sophia asked him.

“All in good time, little lady. So, who was that leaving?”

Why did he always ask us as though we were suspicious criminals?

“A few having a laugh I suppose,” I told him. “You know arty types, very temperamental. Dancing in the rain and all that.”

“Yes, Mr. Wells, I’m afraid I do know my arty types and that’s why I need to keep a good eye out.”

“It’s really not necessary,” Sophia said, “honestly our guests are good and decent people, maybe you could simply inquire in a couple of days’ time about how the party went.”

Sophia glanced at me and I could see her lip quivering. She rolled her eyes and I could see that even patient Sophia was losing it. She had been so excited about our day. She’d organised it so well and been in a cheery mood all week, singing and dancing around as though in love for the first time. She looked so enamoured by life, far more that the week she was marrying me. That week we’d all been so terrified that we were doing the wrong thing that we had been walking around like the un-dead. How different we seemed now. How alive, how full of hope for the life ahead.

Suddenly there was a telephone call that awoke me from my memory of the previous year.

“Oh crikey, who could be calling at this hour eh?” PC Huggins said, walking downstairs as though it were his own telephone.

“I’ll get it,” I said, heading downstairs quickly, passing the constable on the stairs and reaching for the telephone. I spoke into the receiver. “Hello, Mr. Wells speaking. How may I help? Ah, I see, I see.” I held the phone to my side. “PC Huggins, it’s for you.”

“I say, I am a popular chap tonight.” He snatched the telephone and grinned at Sophia as she linked arms with me, standing on the stairs, looking at each other with sly knowing glances.

“Right-o, Sir, right away.” PC Huggins placed down the telephone. “Well, duty calls. Dangerous criminal at the station. I must love and leave you all but keep your eyes peeled for potential intruders.”

Ever since the murderer in the attic, he’d really gone over-board on the protection. As PC Huggins left the residence, Michael, Mallory and Meg returned through the window like burglars and we all cheered, hugging and kissing one another in jubilation.

“I say, well done!” George said, clapping.

Michael laughed and then promptly re-enacted the scene of himself, Meg and Mallory in the telephone box in the nearby street. Michael had telephoned the manor under the guise of Inspector of police, complete with the Inspector’s recognisable west-country accent, and Meg and Mallory had found it hard to control their giggles. It was all quite illegal for him to do so but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“He was wonderful,” Meg said, “he sounded like the real inspector.”

George grabbed Meg and carefully spun her around, his injured leg not seeming to deter him. “On with the rest of the show, chaps, on with the show!”

After I had stood on the doorstep and waited until PC Huggins had completely disappeared from view, I suggested we head to the conservatory where we could close the blinds and shield away any prying eyes at the back. We would dance with the ones we wanted, we would embrace and kiss those we loved and we’d share vows not of a religious or traditional nature but of a personal nature and of great importance to our own values—words that were written by ourselves for ourselves, for people like us the whole world over, people who could not do what we were doing, people trapped and imprisoned, neglected or hiding themselves. It was our secret love but love all the same.

We’d only just arrived in the conservatory when there was another hammering at the door.

“Who’s that now?” Meg said, clenching her fists.

I was starting to worry it was a sign that this was never going to happen.

The four of us hosts moved like un-dead vampires to the door, standing in a line as Sophia opened it. I wished at that moment I could turn into a bat and float away, either that or bite the neck of whoever was on the other side. On that other side of the threshold was the very much not dead Lady Hendon. Of course it was! Who else could it be? Whenever there was something important happening, she was always there like a demonic being, clawing her way in, trying to be the centre of attention.

“Lady Hendon!” I gasped.

She looked at Sophia with horror in her eyes. “Good grief, has your butler been taken ill?”

“No, the servants are on holiday,” she replied.

“How dreadful for you. Absolutely foolish to let your servants go on holiday. I mean it’s silly to let one servant leave at a time but all of them together, well that is positively ludicrous.”

“We manage well,” I told her. “How can we help you?”

“I won’t stop long, my driver’s in the car,” she said as she invited herself inside the house and slipped into the hall. “I’m afraid I’m here on a matter of some personal urgency. My son Gregory has quite gone missing and I wondered if any of you had heard from him?”

We all looked at one another. Considering he’d invaded our privacy, published Meg’s photographs and nearly ruined us, how on earth did she expect that we’d know or care of his whereabouts? Besides, knowing Gregory he’d probably run off with someone’s money or somebody’s wife.

“Are you sure he hasn’t run off with someone’s money or somebody’s wife?” George literally said aloud.

I could’ve died. Sophia and I nudged him whilst Meg stamped on his foot.

“The impertinence of that suggestion,” Lady Hendon cried, her face turning red with anger. “Gregory is not in the habit of stealing anything from anyone.”

“No, that’s only his mother,” George whispered aside.

“I say,” she said, ignoring him completely. “I hear jaunty music. Is there a party going on? A Party with no servants, how positively queer!”

Before any of us had the time to answer she’d already sauntered off in the direction of the conservatory and for someone of seventy-years-of-age she had a very brisk pace as she’d already entered the room before any of us could catch up.

“A soiree indeed,” she announced as she looked at our guests and then at the food. “How uncouth. No sit-down meal, no servants. How wild it is. And look at all your clothes, how very…quaint.”

“Quaint?” Mallory and Vivienne mouthed to each other.

“I’m quite disappointed that you didn’t invite myself and Lord Hendon,” she announced to the group.

Sophia touched her shoulder. “It’s more of a get together of old friends.”

“Am I not an old friend?”

Maria laughed. “You’re certainly old,” she said quietly.

Dear God. What was happening? Was I being punished? Lady Hendon was never going to leave. George and I exchanged hopeless glances.

“Maybe we could bump her off,” he whispered into my ear. “Gregory’s missing, they’d assume he did it.”

I laughed to myself but shook off the humour quickly. It was no laughing matter; she was ruining the most important day of our lives. And then it occurred to me. I knew one way to get rid of the old lady, one thing that would terrify her to the very core.

“Lady Hendon,” I said, pushing her further into the room. “I’d like to introduce you to my friends. These are the…slightly older… Bright Young Things.”

Lady Hendon’s eyebrows rose to the heavens. “I beg your pardon?”

Knowing how suspicious the old lady was about these bright young things she read about in the newspapers, I had to take the chance, and true the last time we saw her that evening or in fact ever again was her running to her car in the rain, shouting at the driver to leave the house of declining morality. My friends could not believe what I had said. It was so unlike me. I, Tobias Wells admitting I was not traditional and belonged to a group of irresponsible, outrageous party-goers, knowing the town would believe what she had heard. Had I changed the perceptions of us again? How would people now perceive those of us at the manor? Would they believe her, after all, my ‘Mr. Wells, squire of the manor’ persona was very much honourable? I decided not to let that bother me in that moment. For once I would not fret. I would put myself first. We had a ceremony to perform and no-one was going to interrupt.

But then the doorbell went again. There was a chorus of sighing and moaning as instead of not answering it as George suggested, I followed Meg— who had her fists raised in the air ready for a knock-out— to the door. 

I reached it before her and flung it open to find Gregory, Lady Hendon’s son standing drenched and out of breath in the doorway.

“You have to help me!” he said.

“No, we don’t Gregory!” Meg replied, raising her fists to his eyeline.

“I’m in trouble. I’ve stolen some money and run off with someone’s wife. Have you seen my mother?”

I laughed. I don’t know why but I couldn’t stop. Soon Meg was laughing too and we just stood there staring at one another, not believing what was happening. Finally, I shook my head at him.

“Do you know what, Gregory? We’re busy!” And just like that I slammed the door in his face. 

Had I really done that? I felt a shiver run down my spine. Soon our guests were praising me. Meg was annoyed she wasn’t allowed to punch him but still all in all I was the hero of the hour. George gave me one of those looks usually reserved for nocturnal activities. 

“In that case,” Meg said, grabbing Sophia’s hand. “If there’s no more interruptions, can we finally do this?”

We all giddily skipped to the conservatory and waited as Michael, our elected speaker, gathered his notes at the front of the room.

Abdul and Mallory grabbed cameras and began snapping away and soon there we all were, flashes of light in our faces as we made our way to where Michael stood in front of the other guests. They all held hands and flowers and watched with beaming smiles as we spoke the words we’d written to the ones we loved. The vows I had made to Sophia the year earlier meant much to me too but these words were more fitting to this gathering and I promised to obey and love George with all of my heart for the rest of my life. Sophia and Meg pledged the same and soon words became smiles, smiles became kisses, and kisses became group hugs. It was done. The unions were sealed. It was time to party!

No more interruptions. We were free. And we partied long into the night, clear of responsibility as though we really were those bright young things we had read about. By the time morning rolled around we were all asleep in the conservatory. Diane had a tile mark on her face where she’d fallen asleep on the hard floor and Herbert and Cecil were asleep together on one of the armchairs. Abdul lay rather majestically across the chaise longue with Bartholomew spread across his chest. 

I spied Sophia and Meg huddled together under a blanket on one of the sofas and George and I had made a little nest of our own under the piano. It was all rather naughty but we didn’t care one little bit. It seemed a shame we should have to spoil the fun.

…

The rest of the day was spent clearing up and one found an even greater respect for our servants after hours of us all scrubbing and tidying the mess. We said goodbye to our friends after dinner and thanked them all in turn for their help and most of all their support. True friends kept our secret and not one of them ever revealed it.

By the time they’d gone, it was late and the four of us were happy to retire to bed and have one last free night alone before the servants returned to their posts. 

They arrived early the next morning, full of the happiness of a holiday, and we helped them with their luggage as though they were the owners and we their servants. We even gave them some tea and cakes for their arrival to which they were flabbergasted and grateful. 

“How was the seaside?” Sophia asked and then let out a little squeak.

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked her.

She was pointing at Eleanor’s finger to where a gold ring glistened in the light. 

“You’re engaged?” I spluttered, unsure whether I was happy or sad.

“Christopher asked me in Brighton.” She was gushing with Sophia as she showed her the ring. It wasn’t a very sophisticated ring but then neither was Christopher. 

“And how did you lot manage without us eh?” Duckett said. “Had any wild parties whilst we were away?”

I put my arm around Sophia whilst George put his arm around Meg.

“Us? Parties? We’re much too boring for that!” I said, glancing knowingly at George.

…

Before we separated for the night, Sophia and Meg came into our bedroom to show us the photographs Meg had spent the day developing. There were dozens of pictures of all our friends, all the dancing and singing and dare I say, kissing. We would need to keep these hidden and so I would lock them away in a safe, somewhere only we four knew about, hidden away with the money and the jewels. 

“I love this one,” Meg said, showing us a photograph of the four of us standing together in our finest garments, all together ready to seal our unions. 

It really was something. We now had two anniversaries. Both equally important and both days equally stressful for different reasons. But that photograph showed what a remarkable day that final one was. I still have that photograph, only now its on show in the living room, on top the piano for the whole world to see it. How times have changed. How little we got to know it differently. How much we’d never see. How much we went through.

But for now, this was our time. This was our manor and it wasn’t just for convenience anymore.


End file.
